


Warm Your Heart With My Own

by fiveainley_ohmy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, M/M, Past Jolto, Past Viclock, Rating May Change, Slayer!Janine, Slayer!John, This story may or may not turn minor characters into major ones, Vampire!Moriarty, Watcher!Lestrade, basically it's Bangel but it's John and Sherlock, vampire!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:52:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 41,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6551818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveainley_ohmy/pseuds/fiveainley_ohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, a Slayer named John Watson met a vampire named Sherlock Holmes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Handsome Stranger

John Watson gripped his emergency stake tighter, sensing someone in the shadows tailing him.

The Watchers’ Council had extracted him from Afghanistan two months ago. John remembered getting shot, his friend Bill tending to his shoulder wound, and blacking out. Then he was waking up in London, practically good as new. Better than normal, actually.

He was informed that providence had selected him as the next Slayer, the Chosen One, standing alone against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. The previous Slayer had been killed, and her responsibilities had been passed along to John. It was the first time in history that a male had taken up the mantle, but John was undoubtedly the destined savior. He had been gifted with superhuman strength, agility, fighting skills, and heightened speed and senses. His previous soldier’s training paired with his newfound abilities made him the perfect warrior.

“Perhaps you’ll live to see 23,” they had laughed as they sent him out into the world.

John was only 22.

This new Slayer was stationed in London, since there tended to be a large concentration of vampires (and other creatures of the night) in urban areas. Every night, John went patrolling and found new monsters to kill.

 _What’s the point of it all?_ John found himself wondering one night while tackling a nest of vampires all by himself. _I kill one, another just comes along. Why do I even bother trying?_

But of course he bothered. Even if John wasn’t the Chosen One, he would feel obligated to fight these creatures, to protect innocent humans. So he kept fighting. It’s what he had to do.

Now, John suspected he was being followed by one of these monsters right now.

_Alright. Let’s have this out then._

John led the thing into a dim alley. Using his Slayer powers, John jumped up and balanced himself upside down atop a steel rod spread above, across the narrow inlet of street, like he was hanging from the rod, but gravity was pulling on him from the direction of the sky.

Even now, his own strength, the ability to control his own body so completely, amazed him. What little boy didn’t dream of having superhuman powers and fighting evil? Oh, if only it didn’t involve such _solitary_.

Slayers worked alone.

John waited patiently until the figure passed underneath him. It was humanoid, that much was obvious. A dark shape, tall, thin.

John swung like a gymnast and knocked the thing to the ground, landing on his feet standing over it. He propped one foot on its chest.

The thing let out a huff as it looked up at him. John felt a sudden blush spring to his cheeks.

It had only been a man.

This new player gave John a quick, analyzing glance, then asked in a smooth baritone, “One question: Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John blinked in surprise. “A-afghanistan,” he answered. “How did you know tha-”

“You work at night, yet you have a tan. Abroad recently then. But not for pleasure obviously. You’re constantly tense, as if you feel as though you’re going to be attacked at any moment. That’s more than Slayer instinct-you’re a soldier. Of course I could have conceived that from your haircut and militant stride. So, you’re an army doctor who was recently in action, so, ‘Afghanistan, or Iraq’.”

“And you knew I was the Slayer because-”

“Well there’s a stake stashed up your left sleeve, but other than that: the first male Slayer? You’re the talk of the community.”

“And the army doctor part?”

“You didn’t draw your stake even though you had ample reason to believe I was a supernatural assailant. That implies a natural need to preserve life except in the case of extreme danger. So most likely, a medic. Any more questions?” The man’s ivory skin glowed phosphorescent in the low light. His pale eyes seemed to sparkle mischievously despite his deadpan manner.

“Yeah,” said John, taking his foot off the guy’s chest, but still posed in his battle stance. “Why were you following me?”

The man smirked. “Don’t worry…I don’t bite.”

 _Holy…did he just_ _wink?_

Pale Eyes stood up and dusted off his posh-looking suit, and John felt momentarily guilty for putting his dirty shoe on the man's expensive looking silk shirt. His clothes looked like they were specifically tailored to fit him - and boy, they didn’t leave much to the imagination about the man’s frame. He was slender, almost skeletally thin. He was tall too – he had a good five inches on John. His skin was stretched tight over his bones – those cheekbones looked razor sharp. His lips were full and shaped like a Cupid’s bow. He had a crown of messy, ink-colored curls atop his head. For the stranger’s stiff aristocratic air, the unruly curls hanging in his eyes gave him a boyish and oddly charming appeal.

The stranger was sizing him up as well. “Truth be told, I thought you would be taller,” he finally said.

John puffed up to his full height of five feet, seven inches. Pale Eyes smirked at him again, clearly amused. “What do you want?” John questioned, scowling.

“The same thing as you, Doctor. Or do you prefer Sergeant?”

“Answer the question, Skeletor,” John growled.

Pale Eyes rolled his eyes as if he’d never heard _that_ one before. “Isn’t it obvious? You really are a goldfish, just like all the rest of them.”

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“To kill them all.” The baritone echoed with bloodthirst.

John shivered. “Who are you? Some kind of psychopath?”

“Please, how pedestrian. I’m a high-functioning sociopath.”

“Oh, of course, how silly of me. How did I not know that?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

John glared at Pale Eyes. Smug git.

“Don’t get so out of shape, nearly everyone is.” Pale Eyes reached for something inside his fitted suit jacket. John’s hand twitched for his stake, but the stranger only pulled out a velvet jewelry box. He tossed it to John, who caught it with ease. John opened it curiously.

It was just a pair of dog tags. There was no name, rank, or serial number; the tags were just etched with a simple cross. John looked at the stranger in question.

“They’re silver. The chain is too,” the stranger said.

John slipped the chain over his head and tucked the tags under his shirt. “Thanks…though you could’ve taken me out to dinner first.” John grinned wryly.

“Perhaps next time.” The stranger’s full lips – holy shit, this guy was actually really hot – twitched with amusement. “They’ll help in what’s coming.”

“And what is coming?” John inquired.

“The Harvest.”

And with that, the stranger began walking away.

“Hey, wait a minute. You stalked me in an alleyway, tossed me some bling, dropped some vague clue about a ‘Harvest’ with no explanation, and now you’re leaving? I don’t even know who you are.”

“Let’s just say…I’m a friend.”

“Yeah, well maybe I don’t want a friend, mate,” snapped John.

Pale Eyes looked over his shoulder, smiling almost sympathetically. “I didn’t say I was yours.”

Then he melted into the shadows and disappeared, leaving the Slayer all by himself with his stake, his new dog tags, and a brain full of questions.


	2. Grave Mistake

“Lestrade?” John called, coming into the Watcher’s office. “You in?”

“Yer, mornin’, Johnny,” Lestrade called, crawling out from under his desk. “Just tryin’ to get this ruddy computer working. Have some coffee.”

“Thanks, mate.” John gratefully poured himself a Styrofoam cup and drank deep.

The Watcher studied him. “Jesus, mate, you look like hell. Did you get any sleep last night?”

After 2 AM, John usually quit the Slayer game and went back to his small bedsit and went to sleep for several hours, then got up and came to Lestrade for a daily session in training, then went to his temp job at a small surgery (being a Slayer didn’t exactly buy any bread) till nightfall, then spent all night out slaying. And repeat, and repeat, and repeat. The Watchers’ Council had assigned Gregory Lestrade to oversee his Slayer progression. Lestrade also doubled as a Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard, which kept John in the loop about potential supernatural crimes. John liked Lestrade fairly well: he was a good ol’ boy, and didn’t try to boss John around.

“No,” yawned John. “Tossing and turning all night.”

Greg studied him. “You were having visions, weren’t you?”

The Slayer also was gifted involuntary precognitive powers – that little feature John could’ve gone without. The dreams had never been too severe before, until last night. John had seen horrible visions, featuring one particularly nasty looking vampire with greased black hair and a pencil ‘stache, the boss of a whole slew of vampires. He’d also seen the strange, attractive, etheric face of his “friend” from last night…although, John wondered if that was less fortune telling and more his own subconscious.

John sighed. “Yes,” he admitted. “Listen…d’you know anything about a ‘Harvest’?”

“Harvest? Never heard of it,” Lestrade said, rubbing his chin wonderingly. “I’ll look into it.” He began typing on his computer. “Nice neckwear, by the way.”

One of the buttons on John’s shirt had been neglected to be done up in John’s bleary stupor this morning. The dog tags John had received from the mysterious man last night were visible. “Oh, yeah. Gift from a friend. Well, I say friend…they’re silver,” John added, tucking the tags away.

“Smart,” Lestrade remarked. He sighed disgustedly at his computer. “Bugger. Bloody thing just isn’t working today. I’ll look into it later. Or better yet, get Molls to do it, she’s way better with computers than me. For now, let’s train, yeah?”

After training and work, John packed up for another round of hunting. The first logical place John patrolled was the cemetery. It was like a home base for most vampires.

And sure enough, as he was creeping through the tombstones, John overheard voices in the distance. He hid behind a mausoleum and listened intently.

“-not ‘appy with you, Sherlock ‘Olmes, not ‘appy at all,” said a voice. Older, nasal, wheezy.

“As if I give a damn about what your boss thinks of me,” said a second voice in response, and John recognized the rich baritone of his mysterious stranger from the night before. “You still haven’t told me his name.”

A wheezy laugh. “You won’t get nuffink from me. ‘Cept a bullet troo the ‘eart.” The click of a gun.

That was enough for John. The Slayer sprung into action, unsheathing the stake from his sleeve and tackling the first speaker, an older man with glasses, clearly a vampire. John pressed the tip of his stake to the vamp’s heart.

“Wait!” Pale Eyes’s voice rang out. John paused, but did not relieve any of the pressure. Pale Eyes approached. “Tell us the name of your employer. Tell us!”

“I ain’t sayin’ nuffink!” the vampire exclaimed.

Pale Eyes’s expensive Italian shoe crunched down on the juncture of the vampire’s right shoulder, and the vamp cried out in pain. “ _The name!_ ” Pale Eyes demanded.

“They’ll kill me!”

Pale Eyes pushed harder.

The vampire’s piggish eyes watered behind his spectacles and he choked. “Alrigh’, alrigh’! ‘Is name is…is – _MO-RI-AR-TY!!!_ ”

Pale Eyes audibly gasped and stepped back. He fell silent, blinking rapidly.

“Well?” John said expectantly.

“Stake him.”

John stabbed. The vamp exploded into dust.

John looked up at Pale Eyes. “You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?”

“The vampire’s name was Jefferson Hope. Minor underling of a much, much greater evil.”

“This Moriarty? What’s a Moriarty?” John asked.

“It’s not a what, it’s a who. So to speak.”

“Okay. Who’s Moriarty? D’you know them?”

The stranger’s eyes flashed maliciously. “Unfortunately, I do. I thought he was dead. Apparently I was wrong.”

“And does this Moriarty character have anything to do with the Harvest?” John said.

“He has everything to do with it. He must be stopped at all costs, or this world goes to hell. Literally.”

“Okay, that’s…bad,” John said, biting his lip.

“Very bad. Tell me, why did you attack him?” Pale Eyes inquired.

John blinked. “Well…he was gonna kill you.”

“Perhaps I could’ve defended myself.” There was that damn smirk again – John wanted to snog it right off the stranger’s smug face.

“Ya know, most people would just say thank you.”

Pale Eyes snorted. Then he smiled slightly at John, gazing at him through thick eyelashes. “Thank you,” he said, slightly nodding.

 _GodDAMNit, he’s hot_. “John Watson.”

“What?” said Pale Eyes,

“That’s my name. You know, those things that _normal_ people have that they use to introduce themselves with, instead of just…I dunno, playing a game of shadows,” John gently teased.

The stranger studied him, slightly amused. “Fine. The name is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.”

“S’a pretty name.”

“Did you look into the Harvest?” Sherlock asked.

“Ah, sort of. Still working on it,” John admitted. “Slaying, training, and a day job kind of make for a full schedule.”

“You have a _job_?” Sherlock said incredulous. “Why?”

“For the money, maybe?” John answered, teasingly sarcastic.

“Dull,” said Sherlock, rolling his eyes. “I suppose next you’re going to tell me you have a girlfriend too.”

“No, actually, I don’t,” John replied. “What about you?”

“Girlfriends…not really my area.”

“Oh…alright,” said John, his eyes lighting up. He hesitated. “Do you have a boyfriend then?”

Sherlock stared at him hawkishly.

John smiled pleasantly. “Which is fine, by the way.”

“I know it’s fine,” Sherlock responded crisply.

“So…you don’t have a boyfriend.”

“No.”

John’s smile grew a little more. “Okay. So you’re single then. Like me. Great.” He licked his lips, for they had suddenly gone very dry.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me, Doctor Watson?” A nearly invisible smirk was twitching at the corner of his full lips.

John laughed derisively, despite the ends of his ears heating up. “Ha. You wish.”

Suddenly, a mound of earth some fifteen feet away from them began shifting. “I believe that’s your cue, Slayer,” Sherlock remarked.

“Right. Wish me luck then.” John scooped up his stake from the ground and took off for the rising vamp. He thought he heard Sherlock murmur to him, softly, “Good luck.”

The newborn vampire was an easy takedown. Barely winded, John brushed the dust of him. Then he looked around for Sherlock.

But the pale-eyed stranger had vanished again.

John sighed in disappointment. “Bugger.”


	3. Avengers Assemble

"Mornin', John," said Lestrade as John came into the station the next morning, looking to be in brighter spirits than the day before. That could be because of the woman sitting at his desk, working at his computer. Lestrade was always cheerier with Molly Hooper around, John had noticed. He wondered if the Watcher would ever just ask her out.

"Hey, Greg, Molls," John said, helping himself to some coffee. Lestrade must have gotten someone else to make it today - it was actually drinkable.

"I found some information on this Harvest of yours," Molly said to John.

"I can't believe you got this hunk of junk working," Lestrade remarked. "Molly, I swear, you must be magic."

"Thanks, Greg," Molly blushed. "Anyway...the Harvest?"

"Oh. Right." Lestrade's face turned troubled.

"Not good?" John guessed.

"Bit not good, yer," Lestrade sighed. "Molls, you wanna give him the bad news or should I?"

Molly cleared her throat and reached for some papers she'd printed from Lestrade's copier. "The Harvest...it's all got to do with this one vampire, a really powerful one. In the text he was referred to as 'the Napoleon of vampirekind'. His name is-"

"Lemme guess: Moriarty."

Lestrade and Molly looked surprised. "Yes! How'd you know?" The Watcher said.

"Little birdie told me," John sighed. "Well, what's the rest?"

Molly looked back at her papers. "Apparently, Moriarty was thought to have been pushed over a waterfall in Switzerland and died in 1916. But his body was never found. This prophesy predicts that he survived, and has been lying in wait, trapped by a curse for a hundred years. But now he has the opportunity to escape again, and wreak havoc on the modern world."

"Mass hysteria? Dogs and cats living together?" said John.

"Basically, he'll unleashed Hell on earth. Literally."

"We've got to stop him from escaping then. How is he going to do it?" John asked.

"He's weak right now. He's sort of trapped by an enchanted barrier, keeping him underground. But he has a whole legion of vamps to come and go and do his bidding," Lestrade said. He passed John a piece of paper with a doodle on it. "There's one in particular you need to look out for - he's Moriarty's vessel. There's some sort of magical blood bond between them. If the vessel feeds enough, he'll gain enough strength for Moriarty for him to be able to break free. He'll be marked with this symbol."

"So I dust anyone sporting this symbol and boom, apocalypse averted," John summarized.

"Basically," Molly nodded.

"Easy-peasy. But first, I'm gonna need weapons."

"Don't worry, I got plenty in stock," Lestrade said.

"Okay. Now, where is this vampire attack most likely to happen?" John said. "London's a big city."

"A better question is, where is Moriarty's gang's lair?" Molly added. "We have a better chance of heading them off there."

"The cemetery," answered John.

Lestrade studied him. "How'dya know that?"

"Last night, I encountered...well, it doesn't matter. Look, it's the spot that makes sense, doesn't it? Lately there's been an increase of newborn vamps, all rising from that area. I'd bet money that Moriarty's brood is stationed there, building itself up."

"Good God," Lestrade said in amazement. "There must be dozens of vampires by now."

"Well, maybe not. I've been really cleaning up lately. Still, their ranks'll be enlarged, that's for sure," John affirmed.

"We're going with you to hunt this vessel," said Molly.

"What?" said John. "No way."

"John, Molly's right. The vessel's going to probably have an entourage. You're good, but you're not that good. You need backup."

John sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I dunno about this. One of you could get hurt."

"We'll be fine, John. Lestrade's a trained fighter like you, and I'm not as meek and helpless as I look," Molly told him.

John could believe it. He'd seen her dropkick an intern at Bart's where she worked that had gotten a bit too friendly once. Molly was small but tough. "Fine. But promise you'll both be careful, and well armed."

"Aye aye, Cap'n," Lestrade quipped.

* * *

Philip Anderson scurried away from the office door as John's heavy, even footfall approached. As the Slayer let himself out, Anderson pretended to be engrossed in a wanted poster hanging on the wall. Luckily, Watson took no note of him.

Anderson watched him go out of the corner of his eye. "What the hell???" he whispered under his breath.

Anderson had suspected something strange was going on for the past few weeks. First, NSY just instated this random guy, Lestrade, as head of their unit. Lestrade was smart and capable, but he was a stranger. Everyone on the force had known Gregson was up for the promotion. Then, they were constantly being visited by these civilians, Watson and the mousy girl from the morgue. Anderson had once asked Lestrade if they were part of some ongoing investigation Anderson wasn't aware of, and Lestrade had told him to mind his own bloody business. Anderson knew right then something fishy was happening, and he was going to find out what.

He hadn't expected Lestrade and his band of misfits to be a gang of psychos!

Anderson spotted Sergeant Donovan striding across the room. "Sally! Sally!" he hissed, rushing over to her.

The sergeant rolled her eyes as the forensics man approached her. "I'm busy, Phil, trying to finish up this report on the robbery of the Crane house-"

"Sally, Sally, I heard something you won't believe," babbled Anderson.

"Oh, what, like the new boss is an alien? Oh wait, that was last week," said Sally, scoffing.

"Hey, look, I could've sworn I saw-! Never mind. Listen, you know that army guy that comes in to visit Lestrade?"

"What, the one that comes in everyday? How could I miss him?" Sally said.

"Look, I dunno what the deal is with them, but the two of them are _crazy_. And that coroner girl too. They've got some...cult or something they're all a part of!"

"Were you listening at the door again?" Sally interrogated, raising an eyebrow.

"No! I just...happened to pass by. Look, just...just come out with me, tonight. I can prove it."

Sally sighed. She knew she was going to regret this. "Come with you where," she asked.

"The cemetery."


	4. Taken

The sky seemed darker than usual. No moon, no stars to light their way.

John, Lestrade, and Molly stood among the mass of headstones, waiting. Molly shivered, rubbing her arms.

"You cold, Molls?" Lestrade asked, taking off of his coat and putting around her shoulders.

Molly smiled shyly up at him, pulling his coat closer. "Thank you, Greg. But I'm not so much cold as I am spooked."

"Yeah. Creepy cemetery at night. Not a nice place. 'Specially for a nice gal like you," said Lestrade. "Your boyfriend must be worrying about you, eh?"

"Oh! Um..." Molly blushed at her lap. "I, um...don't have a boyfriend, actually."

 _I wonder where Sherlock is_ , thought John, rubbing his stake fretfully.

Lestrade's ears pricked up. "Do you hear something?"

There was a rustle in the brush behind the mausoleum nearby. John gripped his stake. "Wait here."

John stalked to the other side of the crypt, raised his stake, and prepared to jab, when-

" _AHHHHHH!_ " Sally popped up from behind the shrub, emitting a high pitched shriek. "What the hell is your issue?!?!"

"Donovan?!" said Lestrade, recognizing his coworker.

"You're human?" John inquired, lowering his arm.

"Of _course_ I'm human, you bloody psycho! You were right, Philip!" Sally moaned as Anderson popped up beside her, clinging to him. "They're insane!!!"

"Alright, what the hell is going on here, Lestrade?" John demanded.

"They work on the force," sighed Lestrade. "I'm guessing they heard our plans for tonight and decided to tag along."

"You need to go home right now," John told them sternly. "It's not safe out here. Bad things are happening tonight. Leave, _now_."

"We're not goin' anywhere," said Anderson haughtily, "till we get some answers. First question: where are you hiding the spaceship?"

"Guys," said Lestrade. "Where's Molly?"

They all turned their heads to where Molly had been sitting, but the coroner was gone."

John swore loudly. "Those filthy bloodsuckers must've take her when Ren and Stimpy were distracting us!"

"If they hurt Molly, I'll-"

"No time for that now, Inspector," said a warm baritone as Sherlock Holmes emerged from the shadows, his pale skin reflective of the full moon which had chosen to finally to come out from behind the clouds. "The gang are getting away. I've deduced that they're taking your companion to Roland-Kerr Further Education College across town."

Everyone stared at him, bewildered. "And who the bloody hell are you?!" Lestrade demanded.

"I'm Sherlock, a friend of John's."

"Colleague," John clarified.

Sherlock blinked. "Yes. I meant colleague."

"And how the hell do you know where they're taking Molly?"

"Does that really matter? Listen, time is of the essence here; we need to go after them now, before they kill her...or worse."

"You think they'd turn her?" John questioned.

"It's entirely possible," Sherlock said.

"Then we gotta go," said Lestrade, immediately taking off for his squad car. John and Sherlock followed without a word.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Anderson said, he and Sally chasing after them. "What the hell is going on here?! Who are 'they'? Who is this man? Why does Watson have a pointy stick? I want some answers!"

John looked at him from the open car door. "Get the fuck in or fuck the fuck off."

Anderson looked at Sally. Sally shrugged at him, and slid into the back seat next to Sherlock. Sighing disgustedly, Anderson climbed in too, and they were off.


	5. Evil, Temporarily Defeated

When they pulled up to the college, they found the vampires' vehicles parked in front of two separate buildings, both identical. "How do we know which building they're in?" said John.

"More importantly, which one the Vessel is in," Sherlock added.

"And Molly," Lestrade reminded them.

"We'll split up, then," John decided. "Sherlock, you and Greg take the building on the left, I'll go for the building on the right."

"You're going in by yourself?" Lestrade asked.

"I'm the Slayer. I can handle myself. If I get into trouble, I'll call you on my mobile."

"We'll go with you, John," Sally volunteered.

"No, you two are staying in the car. These are _vampires_. They will kill you," John told them.

"But we-"

" _No_." John's tone was final.

"Here." Sherlock pulled a stake out of the inside of his suit jacket and handed it to Sally. "Just in case they come across you. So you can defend yourself."

"Why don't I get one?" Anderson whined.

"Because you're an idiot. Sergeant Donovan is annoying but she seems competent enough."

"Um, thank you?" said Sally.

"Here, John. I have something for you too." Sherlock gave John a gun. The same one Jefferson Hope had had the previous night. "It's loaded with silver bullets. Custom made."

"Why are you giving me this?" John asked.

"You were a soldier. Clearly you're trained to use a firearm. You're skilled with a stake but it's a close range weapon. It limits you. I thought this might give you more options."

"Thank you," said John, stowing it in the waistband of his jeans. "And um...be careful. Alright?"

Sherlock nodded.

* * *

John crept through the eerily quiet halls. He checked every room, listening intently for any noise, but heard nothing on the lower floors. Finally, he reached the top level. It too was empty.

_Great. Wrong building. I better head over-_

Suddenly, motion in the distance caught the Slayer's eye. Across the way, in the opposite building, John saw a mass of vampires, holding some humans, including Molly and Lestrade. Sherlock was struggling against a vampire, who was preparing to snap his neck.

" _SHERLOCK!_ " John screamed, his heart lurching inexplicably. Without thinking about it, he reached for his gun and fired.

John's crack shooting broke through two windows and pierced right into the heart of the vamp. He dropped Sherlock and exploded into dust. All the other bloodsuckers looked each other, released their humans, and fled.

John took off running for the other building.

Sally and Anderson were outside and ran up to meet John. "We just saw a whole bunch of people running away - were they vampires?" Sally asked.

"Yeah," said John. "Did they try and get you?"

"No," said Sally. "This is insane."

"Yeah, well." John laughed humorlessly. "Welcome to my world, mate."

Several people emerged from the building, including Molly, Lestrade, and Sherlock. Lestrade was supporting Molly, who looked pale, as pale as Sherlock even. "She's lost some blood," Lestrade called to them. He was holding his handkerchief to her neck, where she was bleeding from a bite wound.

"Did they turn her?" said John.

"Nah. Didn't even properly finish feeding from her before we busted in. Thank God," Lestrade added, brushing some hair from her face.

Sherlock was staring at John. John looked back at him. "You alright?"

"Yeah, fine." A smile twitched at the side of his lips. "Good shot."

John let himself smile back. "Just glad you're okay."

Sherlock nodded, raising himself to his full height, clasping his hands behind his back. "The vampire you happened to kill. His name was Sebastian Moran. He was Moriarty's vessel. His right hand man. His lover, in fact."

John wrinkled his nose. "Moriarty had a lover?"

"I know, unpleasant to think about. He won't be happy with us for killing his ticket to freedom."

"Well luckily we don't have to deal with him for some time. He's staying put for now," John said.

"Quite right," said Sherlock. "He won't stop, however. You need to be ready for whatever comes next."

"What, you're not going to help me?" said John.

Sherlock slowly smiled. "Maybe I'll be around," he answered enigmatically. He held out his hand. "A pleasure to work with you, Doctor Watson."

"And you...Sherlock Holmes," John answered, returning his handshake.

Sherlock winked and walked away, disappearing into the darkness.

John exhaled, his heart racing. "Ho boy."


	6. Never Kill A Girl...

John was submerged in cool dark water. He opened his mouth in surprise, accidentally releasing a large bubble of precious air. John hurriedly covered his mouth.

He was drowning.

The Slayer, panicking, swished about in the water frantically. _Need to swim up, need to swim up...but which way's up?!_  

John forced himself to calm down and watched as the bubbles seeping from his nose and mouth floated toward the surface of the water.

 _That way!_ John thought as he kicked hard, propelling himself through the water.

John could see the surface overhead, becoming clearer and clearer as he approached. His lungs were screaming at him for oxygen-almost there-

Roaring, rushing water. That's the first thing John observed when his blonde head broke through the surface and he emerged, coughing and gasping for breath. John was in a cavern of some kind, and behind him was a sheer wall of rushing water.

"Ah, Johnny boy, you've joined us at last," said a soft, lilting, slightly Irish voice. John whipped around to see...

...a vampire standing before him with greased black hair and beetle-black eyes, in an impeccable suit, leering down at him.

"Moriarty," John said.

"Aww. You told him about me, sweetums?" Moriarty turned around, stepping aside to expose a shirtless man chained to the cave wall. He had whip marks latticing his pale slender chest and rivulets of sweat pouring from his temples.

Sherlock painstakingly raised his head to look the Slayer in the eye. "John," he gasped, his winter-colored eyes big and pleading for help.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

"Hush, puppy," tittered Moriarty as another man, this one tall, dashing, and golden blonde, wearing handsome Regency garb sauntered in, approaching Sherlock with a riding crop menacingly. Blondie smirked and sharply struck Sherlock across the face with the crop. Sherlock howled in pain as a bright pink mark bloomed on his cheek.

"No! Leave him alone!" John shouted, fighting to get out of the water to save the man.

"Such a good pet, so loyal," Moriarty snickered at John, calmly holding him back with one strong hand. "But unfortunately, pets have to be put down sometimes. Just ask Redbeard. Hee hee! Bye bye, John." As Blondie continued to merrily beat Sherlock, Moriarty shoved John back under the water.

"John! No, please! John!" John, despite being trapped under water, could hear Sherlock crying his name, loud and clear. John desperately fought against Moriarty, but to no avail, all the while hearing Sherlock call, "John! John! John!"-

"John!" Suddenly the Slayer was awakening to his supervisor, Sarah Sawyer, shaking him awake. John had dozed off in his office chair while awaiting his next patient.

"Oh,  _shit_!" John hissed, startling awake. "Sarah, I'm so-...I was up late last night-"

"You can say sorry later, right now, Mr. Penderson wants you to take a look at his rash," said Sarah, not unkindly.

"Right," blushed John. He had put in extra hours the night before taking out a demons' nest, then had had trouble going to sleep, kept up by similar visions of Moriarty, drowning, the blonde vamp, and Sherlock's face twisted in anguish as he was tortured, all intermixed with visions of the horrors he'd experienced in Afghanistan. He'd kept jerking awake in a cold sweat, left hand twitching, till he finally decided to give it all up as a bad job. He grudgingly got up, showered and dressed, then caught the early bus to the Yard, let himself in and worked out till Lestrade came in for their training session.

Not to mention, John wanted to impress Sarah. He  _needed_ this job (not many places were hiring invalided 22 year old soldiers), and...well...she was pretty.

John, feeling stiff and groggy, got up as the next patient, a 55-ish year old man, entered his exam room. "Ah, Mr. Penderson. Heard you're having problems with a rash. Can I inspect it, please?" John looked the man over questioningly, looking for signs of redness or flaky skin.

Mr. Penderson, flushing slightly, began to unbuckle his pants.

Ho boy. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Finally when the work day was through, John came by to see Sarah in her office, apologizing again for falling asleep on the job. Sarah was understanding about it. "So does she always keep you out late," Sarah said cautiously. "Your girlfriend?"

"Oh, no. No, I was...working. Moonlighting thing, no big deal. And I don't have a girlfriend," John added, smiling.

"And are you...moonlighting again tomorrow night?"

Well, reasoned John. Slaying could wait a few hours.

As John was coming out the building into the night air, a large grin on his face, he jumped as a hand grabbed his shoulder.

It was Sherlock.

"Jesus!" John panted. "Slayer, remember?! Don't sneak up on me like that, I could snap you in two, you know!"

"I'd like to see you try sometime," grinned Sherlock eerily. "Listen, I need to borrow your phone."

"Wha-my phone?" John dug it out of his pocket. "Why?"

"Don't have one of my own. Need to contact your Watcher," said Sherlock, typing away.

"And what's wrong with a landline?" John asked.

"Prefer to text. Besides, you've got his number." Sherlock sent his message and passed the phone back to John. "Meet me in the cemetery after twilight tomorrow night, we're going on a hunt. See you then." Sherlock began to walk away.

"Ay, hold on! You can't just go swannin' off!"

"Yes, I can. This is me, 'swanning off'. Goodnight, John."

"I can't meet you tomorrow night," said John, grabbing Sherlock's shoulder. "I've, er...got a date." For some reason, John felt odd admitting it to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at him, genuinely confused. "A date?"

"It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun?" John defined helpfully.

Sherlock blinked, not getting it. "That's what I was suggesting."

"No, it wasn't." John smiled, yet inwardly grimacing about the fact that hunting was Sherlock's idea of 'fun'. "At least I hope not."

Sherlock's messy curls, like a dog's ears, seemed to deflate slightly at the rejection. "Where are you taking her?" he muttered.

"Uhhh...I thought the cinema," said John.

Sherlock snorted. "Dull, boring, predictable. Here." He handed John a slightly crumpled flyer from his pocket. "Circus in town, all the way from China. In London for one night only."

John laughed aloud, reading the flyer. "Sorry, but I don't come to you for dating advice."

John heard Sherlock say mockingly, "Suit yourself." But when John looked up, Sherlock had disappeared.

 _How does he do that?_ John asked himself, then shook his head. Curious, he pulled out his phone and checked his  **SENT** messages.

> **[To: Greg Lestrade]**
> 
> _Tour bus accident outside London. Five killed. Read up on 'Anointed One'. -SH_

"Weird," John commented.


	7. Three's A Crowd

"The circus?" said Sarah delightedly as she and John walked down the dark quiet street together. "I haven't been in years."

"Yeah, er...thought it might be different," John smiled, silently thanking his mysterious friend for the suggestion.

Sarah looked around the area. "Funny. I thought there'd be more people out and about, for a circus."

"Yeah, same," John admitted, also scanning the street around them. He really hoped no monsters were creeping about in the shadows. It was his first date since going into the service - not something he wanted to cock up immediately.

John felt slightly guilty shucking his Slayer duties for a night of pleasure, but hey, he'd worked tirelessly for months fighting the forces of evil. He _deserved_ some time for himself. A calm night, a pretty girl on his arm, the possibility of sex for the first time in ages - there was no way he was going to pass this up.

"Well, here we are," said John, stopping, staring at the flyer, double checking the address.

"Um...are you sure?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Because this is a funeral home."

"What?" John looked up.

It was, in fact, a funeral home.

John fought the urge to swear. "I'm so sorry, we must have taken a wrong turn-"

"Not at all," said a deep voice as - bloody hell-

"Good evening, John," said Sherlock pleasantly as he seeped out of the shadows, all bundled up in a navy blue Belstaff and a scarf. His white face seemed to glow in the darkness, set against his hair and his dark clothing.

John threw daggers at the tall pale man with his gaze. " _Sherlock_. What are you doing here." He was doing his best to remain calm in front of his date, but he hoped Sherlock could use those impressive perception skills and pick up on how annoyed John was at the moment.

"You know him?" said Sarah.

 _Unfortunately._ "Yeah, er, Sherlock Holmes, Sarah Sawyer; Sarah, Sherlock."

"Hello," said Sherlock, barely looking at her. "John, did Lestrade pick up anything on the Anointed One?"

_Earlier that day..._

"Got a text from you last night," said Greg as John was taking a break from boxing practice. "What the hell's 'S.H.' supposed ta mean?"

"Oh, sorry. That was Sherlock. Said he needed to text you, let him use my phone," John answered, chugging some water.

"Well, I followed up on his lead. The Anointed One."

"What about it?" John said.

Lestrade sighed. "Well apparently there's gonna be an uprising. A prophecy." Lestrade pulled out a dusty old tome and read a passage from it. " _And there will be a time of crisis, of worlds hanging in the balance. And in this time shall come the Anointed, Moriarty's great warrior. And the Slayer will not know him, will not stop him, and he will lead_ _her_ -" Lestrade coughed here. "Sorry. _Him_ _into Hell. Five will die, and from their ashes the Anointed One shall rise. The Brethren of Aurelius shall greet him and usher him to his immortal destiny._ "

"Anointed One, huh? So a vamp then?"

"Yer. And uh-" Lestrade tapped a newspaper sitting on his desk. "Yesterday, a bus carrying performers crashed right outside London. Most of the passengers were fine, but five were killed. _Five_ , John. Like the prophecy said."

"Okay, so." John shrugged. "What? One of the deadies is going to rise again?"

"Yeah. I'd say tonight, John. You'd better look out for this guy tonight while you're patrolling."

John grinned in what he hoped was a convincing manner. "Right. Patrolling."

He didn't tell Lestrade that he didn't plan on patrolling tonight. He figured Sherlock knew all about the Anointed One - he probably could handle it solo for one night, right?

 _Okay. I'll get back on the job right after I take Sarah home. I promise. Hey, I've earned a night off!_ John had reasoned at the time.

Now John smiled nervously at Sherlock. "...yeah, but...you know...he can wait till tomorrow, right?"

Sherlock stared at him piercingly. "John. The prophecy has been set in stone for 1200 years. It isn't going to wait one more night just so you can pursue your carnal desires."

"His what?" said Sarah flatly.

"Er, ignore him, he's...Swedish," John said, making something up on the spot. "Sherlock, now's not exactly the best time. I'll deal with the Annoying One tomorrow, alright?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Why not now? That is why we're here."

John cocked his head. "What?"

"The funeral home. That's where the dead performers are. One of them must be the Anointed One," said Sherlock simply.

John couldn't believe it. "You sent me to the wrong address on purpose?!" he seethed.

"Not exactly. There are technically some members of the circus inside," Sherlock reasoned. "They just won't be doing any performing."

Sarah stared at Sherlock. "Where exactly do you know each other from?" she said.

Sherlock blinked at her. "Work," he answered blandly.

John sighed. "Sarah, look, I'm so, so, sorry about this, I really am, but I just have some business to take care of really quickly, and then we can go grab dinner or catch a late show or something. Can you please just...wait out here?"

Sarah exhaled, but nodded, looking bewildered and slightly peeved.

"Thank you," said John, squeezing her hand, then running off behind Sherlock.

"What the _hell_ was that?!" John proclaimed once he believed he was out of earshot of his date.

Sherlock blinked at him, crouched on the front step of the funeral home in front of the doorknob. "What?"

"I told you I had a date!" John hissed.

"John, did you not hear the prophecy? That the Anointed One would lead you into _Hell_?" Sherlock insisted. "Do you not care about your own life at all?"

"I dunno, why do you?!" John exclaimed.

Sherlock went quiet, then turned to the lock, digging something out of his coat.

John immediately felt horrible. "Okay, I'm sorry. I get it. You just wanna help me. I'm a prick. I shouldn't have shouted."

"Don't worry about it," murmured Sherlock.

But John could tell he was hurt. "No, really, I'm sorry-"

"Alright, fine! Like I care. It's not as if we're _friends_ or anything," Sherlock spat coldly. "Just colleagues, right? So shut up and let me focus on this." Sherlock unsheathed a set of lock picks and determinedly began to pick the lock.

John sighed. "I can't ruddy believe this. I wanted one night off, just _one_. The universe can't even grant me that? This Slayer gig is a pain."

"Life is pain, Doctor Watson. Anyone who says otherwise is selling something," said Sherlock without emotion.

"Well, I do have a couple of things on my mind this evening," John continued to complain.

Sherlock blinked up at him. "Like what?" he asked innocently.

John stared at him in disbelief. "You _are_ kidding."

"What's so important?"

"You want me to hunt some wee beastie while I'm trying to..." John trailed off.

" _What_?" Sherlock persisted.

John sighed in frustration. "While I'm trying to get off with Sarah!"

John heard a cough behind him. _Shit_ _._

John turned to see Sarah standing there. "Heyyyyy," said John, grinning sheepishly.

Sherlock was sniggering under his breath. He'd known she was standing there the whole time.

John glared at him. _Ohh, if you were a demon, I'd kill your tight, round arse right now._

Sarah was watching Sherlock pick the lock. "Are we breaking in?"

"Yes," said Sherlock.

"Hold on, 'we'?" said John. "You can't come in."

Sarah stared at him sternly. "Yeah well, I've had time to think about it, and I've decided I don't fancy being left outside, alone, in a strange neighborhood, at night. So I'm coming in. Or you'll be _getting off_ alone tonight."

Sherlock grinned up at John. "I like her."

"Shut up, Sherlock."

Sherlock let out a noise of triumph as the lock clicked and the door opened. "We're in. Come on." He and Sarah went inside, and John had no choice but to follow suit.


	8. Burnin' Love

"Are we going to see a dead body?"

" _Shh_."

"Did you just shush me?"

" _Shhhhh_."

"Why do I have to be quiet? Afraid I'm going to wake the dead?"

"Oh, for the love of God, will you tell your girlfriend to shut up, John?" Sherlock hissed.

They were creeping through the quiet ( _quiet as a tomb_ , John thought uneasily to himself) funeral home, keeping a steady eye out. Sherlock and Sarah were bickering. "Why don't you both be quiet?" John snapped in a hushed tone, cranky that his date had been ruined.

Thankfully, both Sherlock and Sarah did as they were told.

They peered in every room, but saw no sign of the Anointed One, or any life at all. "Are you sure about this, Sherlock?" said John.

"Positive, John. We'll check upstairs," Sherlock said smoothly, gesturing for them to follow.

Sherlock led them into a clinical morgue illuminated in cold blue lights. An unlit kiln where the corpses were cremated dominated the left side of the room, and a wall of silver drawers to keep bodies in covered the right. There was a gurney in the center, covered in a white sheet.

Sarah shivered. "This isn't funny, John. Can't we just go?"

" _You_ can if you like," muttered Sherlock, checking the names on the drawers.

"Sherlock, behave," John said warningly.

"Where would the fun in that be?" Sherlock smirked. John cursed the little flip-floop his stomach performed at the sight.

"John," said Sarah slowly. "Corpses aren't supposed to move, right?"

"Well I would think you'd know that,  _Doctor_ ," teased John, smiling flirtatiously.

"John!" Sherlock spat.

John whirled around to see that the lump on the gurney was rising, the sheet slipping off to reveal an Asian man with a hideously warped face and glaring yellow eyes and fangs.

"Sarah, run!" John ordered.

"What happened to him?!" Sarah yelped.

With a grunt, Sherlock tackled the vampire, but he flung him aside as if Sherlock were a paper doll. Sherlock slammed into the cabinets.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

"I'm fine!" Shemlock declared, struggling up. "Just take care of him!"

The vampire kicked the sheet off of himself, growling as he snapped the tag off his toe and lobbing it to the floor. He climbed off the tray, completely exposed.

"Oh, gross," groaned Sarah.

The vampire's head snapped in her direction. He grinned at her wickedly and uttered something in Chinese. John didn't know what he said, but from the ravenous gaze he was giving his date, John had to guess it was something along the lines of "I'm hungry".

"Oh no you don't!" John exclaimed, leaping into action. He lunged at the vampire, knocking him to the ground. The vamp's head knocked into the side of the metal gurney, dazing him for a moment. Then he growled angrily and attacked John.

They scuffled on the floor for a moment, John getting a few good licks in, before the vampire managed to kick John off of him. The vampire tried to put him in a headlock, trying to reach his neck, but John elbowed him in the stomach, flipping him into the tile again. "Oh my kingdom for a stake right now!" grumbled John.

He made to punch the vamp in the face again, but he was too quick, rolling out of the way, and John ended up banging his knuckles on the floor. "Ow!"

The vampire took the opportunity to grab John again and body slam him onto the tray. Grinning satanically, he jerked John's head to the side to-

"Here!" Sherlock smashed into the vampire, running him into the hard stone slab of the kiln. The vampire roared, infuriated, and shoved Sherlock off of him, knocking him into a tray full of surgical utensils. The vampire went after him, but John grabbed him around the waist and slung him around, forcing him into the kiln. He scrambled to shut the door. "Sherlock! Little help!"

The dark haired man rushed to his side and pressed his body against the kiln door. He was skinny, but must have had some strength to him, because his and John's combined weight on the door was enough to keep the vamp in. John strained for the incinerator control, but it was too far away. "Sarah!" John yelped. "Hit that switch!"

Sarah, trembling, did as she was told. The kiln ignited, and the vamp roared with rage as he was roasted, reduced to ash.

John panted, relieved. He looked at Sherlock. "Good teamwork. Thank you."

"My pleasure," Sherlock wheezed back.

"And you, Sarah. Thank you too," John added.

Sarah looked at John, aghast. "What was that monster?" she inquired.

Sherlock hummed, coming over to the tag on the floor. He picked it up and read from it. "'Zhi Ziu'," he stated. "Must have been the fellow's name."

"So that's it," said John. "The Anointed One? He's taken care of now?"

Sherlock nodded. "It would be a safe assumption, yes."

"Good. Crisis averted, then. One silly vampire - no big deal for us," John turned to look at Sarah. "Are you alright?" he asked softly.

Sarah nodded. "The way you two took down that guy was...impressive," she said.

John laughed sheepishly, once, without humor. "Yeah, well...promise, next date won't be like this."

Sarah laughed, kind of high and hysterical and nervous. "Next date? You are joking, right?"

John sighed. "Yeah. Okay. I understand. Please don't fire me from the clinic though?" he added.

"John, you're a damn fine doctor - I wouldn't think of letting you go. Just long as-" Sarah pointed a still shaking finger that contrasted her steady voice at the kiln. "-doesn't get in the way of your work, you've still got a job as far as I'm concerned."

"I guess I owe you an explanation," said John. "That was a vam-"

"I _don't_ want to know," said Sarah firmly. "About any of it. Please. I just want to go home."

"Of course," said John. "Sherlock and I will escort you." John cast the pale man a look, and Sherlock nodded.

* * *

"I am sorry," Sherlock said later on, after they were leaving Sarah's flat. The night was quiet, and it was just the two of them. "About ruining your date."

John shook his head. "No. It wasn't your fault. It's just my fucking destiny. You...you were just being a good friend."

John thought he might have caught a glimpse of a smile, a  _real_ smile, on the enigmatic man's lovely face. "Well," said Sherlock, inhaling quickly. "Since your date ended so abruptly...want to grab dinner?"

As if on cue, John's stomach gurgled loudly, making both men laugh. "Dinner sounds great," said John. "Slaying always makes me hungry."

"I know a good Chinese," said Sherlock, beginning to lead the way. "You can always tell a good Chinese by the marks on the door..."

* * *

Two figures - vamps - crept into the morgue. One of the two looked along the array of cabinets. He found the one he was looking for and looked at his friend. "This is the one."

They opened the drawer - labeled  _Soo Lin Yao_ \- and looked upon the still girl inside. She was pretty, with long dark hair and delicate features. Her neck was marked with distinctive puncture wounds.

"We've come to bring you to your master, Anointed One," said the first vampire.

Soo Lin opened her eyes. Her irises were blood red.


	9. Family Matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Things get a bit /steamy/ in this chapter. Warning: John has kind of a BDSM-ish dream about Sherlock. But it's a dream, mind.**

John shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Not that the chair was uncomfortable, just that he was.

He didn't know why he had to do this. The Watchers' Council, worried that John might be a bit unstable from his time in Afghanistan, had submitted him to therapy sessions. Luckily his therapist, Ella Thompson, worked in association with the Watchers, so she was perfectly aware of the supernatural and John's role as the Slayer, so at least he didn't have to lie about 75 percent of his life to her. Still. He hated feeling like a bug under a microscope.

"How's the slaying going?" Ella asked.

John shrugged. "I poke monsters with a stick, they poof into dust. It's one way to spend a night out, I guess."

"And how's your blog?"

"Ah...great. Great."

Ella studied him dubiously. "You haven't written a word, have you."

John squinted at her clipboard. "You just wrote 'still has trust issues'."

"And you read my writing upside down."  _Touché._

John sighed. "What's the point of keeping a blog? It's not like I can write about slaying, can I? Not unless I want to get carted off to the nuthouse."

"Write about your hospital work," Ella suggested. "Write about the non-Slayer parts of your life. Hell, write movie reviews. Anything that will help you  _release_."

John sighed. "I'll...give it another go, alright?"

Ella nodded, looking satisfied for now. "And what about your friend? Sherlock?"

John shrugged. "What about him?"

"What do you know about him?"

John laughed. "Next to nothing. He's...a total enigma."

"And how does he make you feel?"

John stiffened. "What?"

"Sherlock, how do you feel about him?"

John instaneously panicked. How the hell was he supposed to answer that?

It was nice to have an ally in the field. Someone who knew the life. And as odd and mysterious and downright infuriating Sherlock could be sometimes, he was probably the closest thing John had to a best friend. There was a natural affinity between them, despite their contrasts. John was the sun and Sherlock was the moon. There was...some kind of spiritual connection, an unspoken singularity that made the two fall together easily.

But that didn't explain the dreams.

John kept returning to the drowning pool, the cavern behind the waterfall. Sherlock, shirtless and sweaty, chained to the wall. Sometimes Moriarty was there, sometimes not. Sometimes the blonde vampire was there, whipping Sherlock, sometimes not. Sometimes Blondie offered John the riding crop.

One night he took it.

"You know what to do," Blondie had hissed in his ear.

John felt the soft firm leather in his hands, running his fist up and down the long slender column. Then he looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes were big, pleading...dark with desire. "Please," he whispered.

John struck his chest.

Sherlock threw his head back, moaning.

"Again," Blondie said.

John hit him again. Sherlock whimpered. "Please," he gasped.

John kept hitting him, and Sherlock kept begging for more and more, in a tone that made John's pants tight. Finally, John fell to his knees in front of Sherlock. The man stared at him with wide, engorged, blackened irises. "Touch me, John," Sherlock pled.

John scrabbled for the fly of Sherlock's trousers. Just before he reached inside, he looked into Sherlock's eyes. Then down to his plump, gorgeous lips. John leaned in, he could practically feel Sherlock's soft skin on his, almost  _taste_ him-

But then he'd woken up, sweating, flushed, and leaking in his pants. "What the  _fuck_?" John hissed as he hurried off to the bathroom for a wank.

He'd thought it was a one time occurance, but it kept happening over and over again. Sometimes it was just sex with Sherlock, having him in his bed, under his body, whispering his name filthily, writhing,  _begging_ -

"John."

The sound of his therapist's voice brought him back to the present. John swallowed and hoped he wasn't blushing  _too_ hard.

"Sherlock is...good," John answered honestly. "He's a good fighter. He gets how it is. I'm glad to have him."

* * *

John was puzzling over what to write on his blog when he heard a knock on the door of his small bedsit. Who the hell was visiting him at home?

John opened the door to a playfully grinning woman with short wheat-blonde hair. "Heyyy, little bro!" she said.

"Harry!" said John, happy to see his sister, but also surprised. "What are you doing here?"

Harry sauntered in, toting her purse and what John feared was an overnight bag. "Johnny. You've been home for three months. You don't call, you don't write."

"What do you mean, we talk all the time," said John. "We talk on Facebook."

"You're never _on_ Facebook," Harry pointed out, plopping her bag and herself down on his small, overstuffed couch. "So I decided to come stay with my darling little brother in the big city."

"What?! No, you can't!"

Harry looked at him in surprise.

"I mean...I've only got the one bed-"

"That's alright." Harry patted the arm of the sofa. "This couch here looks mighty comfy...way comfier that sad excuse for a bed," she added, pointing at John's dreary twin.

"Well, uh...I stay out late. Working," said John. "And I get up early too."

Harry shrugged. "I'm a heavy sleeper - you won't bother me."

"Well, uh...uh..."

"John...you don't want me to not stay with you because of the drinking, do you?" Harry fished out her 'six months' sober token from AA from her purse. "Look, I'm dry, see?"

"No, of course it's not that," said John quickly. "It's just...it's small here and I'm not sure you'll be happy all cooped up here with me-"

"Johnny," said Harry. "We shared a room smaller than this for 16 years. I'm pretty sure we'll be fine. Just don't go bringing any girls home...unless you get me one too." Harry laughed and stood up with her overnight bag. "Say, you got a shower in this place? I'm feelin' grungy."

"Um, yeah. Over there," said John, pointing to his bathroom.

"Thanks, sweetie." She playfully pecked his cheek and pranced into the loo.

John sighed and rubbed his face. He looked at his laptop, which was sitting open on his desk, taunting him.

_Well, why not? At least now there's something to write about._

John resignedly sat back at his desk and began to type.

> **The Personal Blog Of Dr. John H. Watson**
> 
> _My sister just accosted me in my bedsit and made herself a guest in my ~~home~~ ~~this isn't a home it's a bloody prison cell~~ place of residence and informed me she was staying over. Well, this is going to be complicated. How am I supposed to get my bloody ~~Slayer duties~~ shifts at the clinic done with Harry snooping around?_
> 
> _I haven't seen S since the Anointed One incident. It's been a few weeks. Usually he shows up by now, oozing out of the shadows with another cryptic message from...where does he get his intel, I wonder. What is he even, anyway? Freelance hunter? He has to have a day job though, right? He must, I never see him during the day. I wonder what his hair looks like in the sunshine. It looks jet black at first glance, but it's actually a very dark brown. I bet there's red in it, when the sun's shining through those frumpy curls. His eyes are hard to place as well. They seem to switch back and forth from grey to blue to green. Everything about him's a mystery to me. I ask him questions but he's either evasive or coy, or he just straight up disappears. What's he hiding? It keeps me up at nights, with those dreams of us in the cave...him shirtless and chained up...with the riding crop_

John blinked, realizing what he had just written. He couldn't publish _that_! What if someone found it? What if _Sherlock_ found it?!

John was just about to hit **DELETE** when his phone buzzed. It was Lestrade.

> _Vampire activity in Hyde Park. -Greg_

Shutting his laptop and immediately grabbing his bag o' tools, John texted him back.

> _On my way. -John_

"Harry!" John called at the bathroom door. "I'm going to work now!"

But his cries were lost over the rush of water. John shrugged and headed out.


	10. Kiss And Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gee, I'm shitty at writing fight scenes.

John had never taken on vampires like these before.

He fought them with all his skill and Slayer know how, but he was getting his arse handed to him. And the crazy part was that there were only three of them. John had taken  _seven_ vampires at once before. Three should have been no sweat.

Yet John was again shoved to the ground. The one in the black leather jacket kicked him in the stomach. "Not much cop, this Slayer," he snickered.

"In times of old, the Chosen One was feared among our kind. Even we would not have dared challenge her," added the one in a rust colored tee with the sleeves torn off.

The third, wearing a blue jean vest, sneered down at him. "How does it feel, Slayer? To know that you are inferior in your station to a female?"

John spat. No blood, thankfully. "It feels like..." he wheezed, "...you're a sexist, mate." He sprang to his feet, stake in hand.

John managed to catch Jean Vest by surprise and tackle him to the ground. He staked him right through the heart. The vamp was vaporized. John was just about to congratulate himself when razor sharp fingernails sunk into his sides. John yelped as he was picked up and body slammed to the earth by Tank Top. He thought he felt a rib crack.

Tank Top was about to bare down on him again, when suddenly he groaned in agony and exploded into dust. Left standing in his wake, to John's glad surprise, was Sherlock, clutching a stake.

John's gaze connected with Sherlock's for a split second before Leather Jacket, who was clearly the leader of the trio, attacked him. His sharp nails dug into Sherlock's face, leaving a bright red gash on his cheek. John struggled to his feet, clutching his torso with one hand and gripping his stake in the other. Sherlock managed to push him off, and John drove his own stake into the bloodsucker's chest, thoroughly dusting him.

John, panting disgracefully, looked at Sherlock and offered his free hand to help him up from the ground. "Thank you," said the man, brushing grass from his posh clothes.

"No, thank  _you_ ," John said. "I was nearly done for. Those leeches were a bit more juiced than usual."

"They were called the Three," Sherlock stated. "Master assassins, denizens of Moriarty. Very powerful. I imagine he must be very angry with you to send them, after killing Moran and his Anointed."

"Well now he can be angry at both of us," John giggled. He could hardly believe he was giggling at a time like this. "I've been meaning to ask, by the way: how do you know so much about Moriarty?"

"A very good question," Sherlock said, wrapping his arm around John's torso to support him. "...for another time. For now, let's get you home to tape up that rib."

John hoped Sherlock didn't notice his heart rate pick up at his closeness.

A short cab ride later, they had arrived at John's bedsit. John unlocked the door and looked at his drab dwelling in dismay. He looked back at Sherlock, who was lingering in his doorway awkwardly. "Um...come in," said John softly.

Sherlock did so. John, looking around, noticed that his sister's purse was gone. "Harry must have gone out," he said.

"Who?" inquired Sherlock.

"My sister. She's staying over," said John.

"Hmm. She must have just left," commented Sherlock.

John looked at him strangely. "How could you possibly know that?"

"The air is here is still warm and humid, presumably from your shower. It wasn't you in there, so it must have been her. Also I can faintly smell her perfume."

John laughed. "Well it sounds simple when you say it like that."

"That's the problem with most people: they  _see_. They do not observe."

John shook his head. "You keep on amazing me."

Sherlock's eyes flitted up to him, widening slightly in surprise. "Do you mean that?" he asked curiously.

"Of course," smiled John softly. "Of course I do - you're amazing."

Sherlock was -  _holy shit_ \- blushing. "Um...w-we should-" Sherlock was stammering. It was adorable. "We should tend to your injuries. I take it you have a medical kit."

"Course, in the bathroom. I'll go get it."

John went into the bathroom and pulled out the kit. He carefully pulled off his shirt. He eyed his scar and his padded stomach and the light dusting of hairs on his chest with displeasure.  _I bet Sherlock looks like a bloody Greek God without his shirt on_ , John thought wistfully.

Sherlock was sitting on his bed - the sight made John gulp and unconsciously lick his lips - when he came back in. "Erm. Here."

Sherlock looked up...then his eyes carefully traveled downward, taking in John's naked upper body. Again, he blushed. "Come. I'll bandage you up," he answered stiffly.

John sat beside him. He shivered when Sherlock's cool hands touched him - though his temperature had nothing to do with it. Sherlock methodically wrapped the bandages around him, making sure they were tight enough. Then he tended to where one of the vampires had sliced John's flesh with his claws. "There," Sherlock said when he was done. "I would normally recommend seeing a physician, but your Slayer DNA will allow you to heal quickly. In a week you'll be back to normal."

"Thank you," said John. He then noticed the bright red scratch marring Sherlock's porcelain cheek. "Oh, here, let me get that."

John dabbed some iodine on a bit of cotton and gently cleaned the dried blood away. Their gazes were locked, and John's hands were cupping Sherlock's face. His skin was soft, a pleasant contrast to John's rough soldier's calluses. John was very much aware of the proximity, the  _intimacy_ , of their situation, and his breath was short, his heart racing like mad in his chest.

"Um..." Their faces were very close, and their glances kept darting from each other's eyes to their lips. John was struggling to find something to say - dear God, it was warm in here - when something caught his eye over Sherlock's shoulder.

His laptop, sitting on his desk, where he'd left it. But it was open. And  _on_.

It was open to his blog post.

"Oh, God," breathed John, jumping up and crossing the room to inspect it. Sure enough, those damning words were still there. "You - you read my computer?" he squeaked, rounding on Sherlock.

Sherlock blinked. "What?"

"You read my blog post?!" John exclaimed, his voice rising in fear. "You...that was _private_ -...I wasn't even gonna post-...it was just some random thoughts I was writing down because my therapist makes me! It was none of your business! I don't give a shit about the color of your _eyes_ or whether your hair looks red in the sun or not, and I  _certainly_ have not been dreaming about you!"

"John-"

"And-...and besides!" The tips of John's ears were smoldering in embarrassment. "The 'S' doesn't stand for Sherlock anyway! It stands for Sher...man. Sherman! He's an orderly at the clinic! So none of that stuff was about you. And I'm not even gay, so that was all a load of bullshit anyway!"

"John, I didn't look at your computer," said Sherlock, standing up. "It was open and on when we came in. Your sister must have used it before she left. You didn't notice."

"Oh!" John blinked. "Oh."

Sherlock looked at his shoes. "John...I suppose this is as good a time as any to bring up what's been troubling me...perhaps I shouldn't accompany you on your hunts anymore."

"What?" said John, his heart sinking slightly.

Sherlock looked absolutely miserable. "It has nothing to do with you. It's my fault, I'm afraid. I try to...keep myself distant, but I find that when I'm around you, I become distracted from the Work...you  _fascinate_ me, John. I try to remain professional, but I keep thinking about what it would be like...to..."

John's heart was thumping hard. "To...what?" he whispered, daringly taking a step toward him.

Sherlock moved closer too, and the walls of the tiny bedsit seemed to press them together. Sherlock raised his hand and brushed his fingertips across the apple of John's cheek ever so slightly. "Your eyes," murmured Sherlock, staring deeply into them. "They are...lovely."

John swallowed. His skin was tingling. He gathered his courage and said again, "I'm not gay."

Sherlock, visibly disappointed - no, _heartbroken_ \- began to back away from John.

John cupped Sherlock's cheek, keeping him from getting away. "I'm  _bisexual_ ," he told him firmly, before bringing their lips together.

Sherlock enthusiastically kissed him back, clutching the muscles of John's upper arms. He made a desperate little noise which had John groaning in his response, his cock hardening just a bit in his pants. This one kiss affected him more than any of his trysts in the past had. His lips were pleasantly cool and  _soft_ , so soft.

John wrapped one arm around the man's slender waist, holding him close. The hand on Sherlock's cheek slid into his thick, _soft_ curls and clenched them lightly. Sherlock moaned approvingly, his lips parting for John's tongue to slip in. His large, long-fingered hands were roving exploratorily over John's exposed flesh, coolness on heat, making figurative _steam_. John felt electrified where Sherlock touched him and clutched him flush to his body. The Slayer could feel through the other man's thin bespoke trousers that he was half-hard against John's hip as well. John, who hadn't had any real amorous contact in _so long_ , especially with someone he was as attracted to as Sherlock, growled possessively, his hands sliding down to cup that ripe, perky arse-

Suddenly Sherlock was pulling away, putting distance between himself and John, swiftly turning away from him.

"Sherlock?" said John, touching his shoulder, afraid he'd come on too strong.

Sherlock was tense. He whirled back around again and _snarled_. John looked at his face and backed away, gasping in horror.

Sherlock's angelic face had distorted into that of a ferocious demon. His eyes were hard and yellow, and he now had protruding fangs.

Sherlock was a vampire.


	11. Sherlock

Sherlock's face morphed back to its normal, unreasonably beautiful state again, but it was too late. "John, let me explain-"

John dove for his Slayer bag for a stake. Sherlock bolted out the door.

John slumped against his bed, too in shock - or too reluctant - to give chase. "Oh, God," he whispered.

He'd invited him in. A  _vampire_ now had access to his home...his home where his unwitting sister was crashing.

Harry, along with everyone else from John's non-Slayer existence, didn't know about his double life - and for good reason: to keep them safe. For reasons like  _this_.

Sherlock could wait till John was gone and prey on his sister. Feed on her, simply kidnap her and use her life as leverage to make John do whatever he wanted. Or worst of all,  _turn_ her.

Wait a minute, said a rational part of his brain. How do you know Sherlock is bad?

 _How do I know? He's a fucking vampire!_ John sniped back.

But he's helped you. Given you information, gone hunting with you, even saved your life a couple times.

_Obviously a ploy to gain my trust. Duh!_

Why would he do that?

_To...lower my defenses. Soften me up. Then go in for the kill._

Your defenses were pretty low this evening. You were injured. You kissed him. If he wanted to harm you, tonight would have been the optimal time, don't you think?

 _But why would a vampire want to help me?_ John argued back. _I'm the bloody Slayer! I'm a crusader against his very existence._

The voice of reason didn't have an answer for that one.

John buried his face in his hands as he sat on the edge of his glorified cot and groaned.

He  _kissed_ him. John snogged a sodding _vampire_. John Watson, the Vampire Slayer, the one person in all the world to fight the things that go bump in the night...put his tongue inside a Goddamn bloodsucker's mouth and felt up his bum. How much worse could a person be at their job?

At that moment, Harry walked through the door that Sherlock had left standing open, arms laden with groceries. She spotted John's bandages. "What happened to you?" Harry inquired, concerned.

"Um...fell down some stairs. Bruised a rib," John fibbed. Had to explain the fast track recovery somehow, right? "Got sent home early."

"Well, I'll cook us up some dinner, that'll make it all better. I noticed your refrigerator was sort of barren, so I went shopping. You remember my girlfriend Lizzie? We dated for about six months while you were in the service, I wrote you about her. Well she was a pescatarian, and she taught me how to make these yummy lettuce wraps..."

* * *

The lettuce wraps were surprisingly good, considering they contained no meat. John still felt hungry after eating six of them, however, but clever Harry had also bought Jaffa cakes and Jammie Dodgers. "Figured you could use something sweet," said Harry sympathetically. "I got the feeling from your little diary thingie you're pining for someone."

 _Great, just what I need, a reminder of that nightmare._ John stonily munched a Jaffa cake.

"Who's 'S'?" Harry said, never one to let things lie.

John sighed. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You can't even tell me who it is?"

"Harry, I mean it," John snapped bitterly. "Just drop it."

Harry pouted and grabbed her overnight bag. "Fine," she said, stomping to the bathroom.

John too, went to bed, being wary of his rib. That night, he dreamed of the drowning pool again.

But tonight, it wasn't Moriarty holding him underwater. It was Sherlock.

* * *

"I don't believe it," gasped Molly.

"Knew there was something freaky about that guy," nodded Sally.

"Why didn't you kill him?" Anderson asked.

John glared at Lestrade, who had his nose buried in a book. "Do these two _have_ to be here?" he grouched.

Lestrade made some kind of noncommittal grunt, determined not to be pulled from his research.

"We're in this now," said Sally, glaring at John. "We're  _in the know_. Informed. In the loop. Part of the inner circle. You can't keep us in the dark now that we've seen the light. If some creature with claws or fangs can come to kill me in the night, I want to be aware of its existence."

John had, of course, reported to Lestrade about the encounter with the Three, but most importantly, the truth about Sherlock's identity. Lestrade had insisted on bringing in Molly, who had made a full recovery from the vampire attack at Roland-Kerr, and Sally and Anderson had insisted on being a part of the powwow. John hadn't divulged to them all the  _details_ about how Sherlock's secret was revealed, but the important thing was, now they knew about the potential threat.

"So, Watson? Why didn't you kill the bloodsucker?" said Anderson insistantly.

"I think a better question," Molly said quickly before John could lose his temper, "is why didn't  _Sherlock_ kill John?"

"Because the leech knows Watson could rip his head off," said Anderson confidently. "He wouldn't dare take on the Slayer, right?"

John winced. "Geez, Anderson, Sherlock has a name, you know. And do you have to use those terms? They're called  _vampires_."

"But  _you_ use those terms all the time," said Sally. "Geez, you get all 'totes besties' with Count Dracula and suddenly you're an SJW for vamps."

"Ay, John," said Lestrade, looking up from his reading. "Sherlock's surname wouldn't happen to be 'Holmes', would it?"

"Yeah," said John in surprise.

Lestrade's face went visibly stormy. "What is it, Greg?" said Molly.

Lestrade pushed the text at them. "This is bad, John. Very bad."

The other members of the group leant over the desk and silently read to themselves.

_At the turn of the 19th century, reports of a particularly bloodthirsty and sadistic vampire known as Sherlock Holmes were passed about. Holmes was rumored to be associated with the infamous vampire lord Moriarty. His carnage spread across Great Britain like wild fire, targeting mainly dope addicts as his sustential prey; however, the vampire appeared to enjoy murder simply for the sport, torturing his victims mercilessly before killing them. His trademark calling card was the whip marks he left on his victims, applied with what most forensic scientists infer to have been a riding crop. However, in 1916, both Holmes and Moriarty disappeared from the public's attention, last spotted in Switzerland._

"The Reichenbach Falls," said Molly. "That's where Moriarty's body is. It's where he was said to have died."

"No," said John softly. "He's alive.  _That's_ why Sherlock was trying to gain my trust. He wants to sacrifice me to Moriarty. They're working together!"

"John, do you really think-"

"Oh come on, Molls!" John roared. "Why else would he attempt to get close to me? You read the book, he's pure evil!"

"John, where are you going?" said Lestrade as John grabbed his coat from the stand by the door.

"To work," snapped John. "I need to take my mind off this...this is so fucked."

* * *

But all day, John was unfocused. When Sarah asked what was wrong, John blamed it on his "bruised" rib. Sarah sympathetically let him go early. She still didn't want to know all the dirty details of John's "moonlighting", but somehow she understood that John had an important job to do. John was grateful for that.

But when John returned home, he couldn't believe what he walked in on.

Sherlock, standing in his living room, vamped out. Harry was limp in his arms. There was a bite wound on her neck.

"You motherfu-!" John punched Sherlock in the face, catching his sister's form. Sherlock ran for the open window.

"Get back here!" John exclaimed, carefully setting Harry on the floor and giving chase. Sherlock gracefully slipped out, falling four stories and landing gracefully onto the ground (of course - he had vampire superpowers; John felt so _stupid_ for not having realized before). John glared furiously down at him, but did not chase. Even with his Slayer abilities, John would break a leg from that height. Sherlock darted away in the night.

"Mm." Harry groaned. She was still alive!

"Harry!" John knelt beside her.

"Johnny? Where'd he...go?"

"Harry, we need to get you to the hospital, you may have lost some blood."

"He said he was your friend..."

"He's not," growled John. "Come on." He carefully slung Harry over his shoulder and carried her down the stairs to take her to the clinic in a cab. Sarah could treat her, she wouldn't ask any questions.

As John waited outside Sarah's office, he quietly stewed in his own rage.  _I'm going to kill him_ , John swore.  _This ends tonight._


	12. Behind Blue Eyes

"The weird thing is, I don't even remember fainting," said Harry. "Miss Sawyer here says I didn't even lose any blood. And you're telling me it was a snake that bit me?"

"Oh yeah," coughed Lestrade. Lestrade and Molly had come to sit with her while John went off to hunt Sherlock. "Snakes are a...big problem here in London."

Harry shrugged. "Well...thank you,  _Doctor_." She winked at Sarah.

Sarah's face turned bright pink. "Oh, um...think nothing of it."

"So, where is my baby brother anyway?" said Harry. "Out buying flowers, I expect."

"Um...something like that," said Molly, grimacing.

* * *

"Here, little _leech_. Come out to play," John called mockingly, creeping through the cemetery. This was normally where he found Sherlock hanging about, so there might be a good chance he was here. Of course if he was smart, he would've gotten the hell out of Dodge. John was ready to tear this countryside apart to get at him for hurting his sister.

"You are so fucking dead," John whispered.

* * *

"Thing I don't get it is, why did the bastard bite her neck but not drink from her?" Lestrade muttered to Molly.

"Maybe he wasn't hungry. Maybe he just wanted to scare John," suggested Molly.

"It's weird though. He was playing such a good game up till now. Now he's shown his whole hand. Makes no sense. What's he up to?"

"John's friend who I invited in, he was real creepy," Harry said, breaking them out of their reverie. "Had these dark, beady eyes - cold and black as night." She shuddered.

"Wait. Sherlock's eyes are very pale," said Molly.

Harry looked confused. "Who's Sherlock?"

"John's friend. The one you let in, right?" A bad feeling was suddenly forming in the Watcher's and the coroner's stomachs.

"No," said Harry. "His name was Victor."

Lestrade and Molly looked at each other. "Oh no," they declared simultaneously.

* * *

A dark chuckle took John by surprise. John whirled around to see a tall, dashing man in a nice suit with golden blonde hair leaning against a head stone. John couldn't believe it. It was the blonde vampire from his dreams. " _You?_ "

"So this is the fearsome Slayer I've heard so much about," said the blonde vampire. He looked John up and down. "Thought you'd be taller, to be honest."

"John, get away from him!" rang out another voice. Sherlock had appeared behind him.

John bared his stake, glowering at him. "You bit my sister. My  _fucking_ sister!"

"I didn't touch her, I swear, John. You need to come away from him. He's evil!"

"And why should I trust you? You've been lying to me since the first day we met!" John shouted.

"If I had told you I was a vampire at the beginning, you would have reacted exactly like this!" Sherlock exclaimed. "John,  _please_! He's working for Moriarty!"

"Oh, like you?" John spat.

Sherlock stared at him. "Is that you really think?" he said, and there was a touch of sorrow to his voice. "After all I've done for you? You think I'm working for the enemy?"

Something tugged at John's stomach guiltily.

A scowl crossed over Sherlock's face. "That's what you _need_ , isn't it?" he spat angrily. "To make me a villain, so it's easier to kill me? God, you're as big an idiot as any of them!"

"Is that an invitation, then?" John growled, his fury bubbling back up again. He held up his stake threateningly.

Sherlock shifted to his vamp-face. "Let's have this out," he snarled.

They ran at each other at the same time. John swung his stake, but Sherlock artfully flipped over him. "You need to direct your attacks better than that, if you're aiming to kill," he instructed, landing on the grass behind him. "My heart's higher up than that."

"Come over 'ere and gimme another _try_!" John attempted to jab again, but Sherlock easily deflected, knocking the stake from his hand. John swung and tried to punch him, but Sherlock just kept blocking him. " _Fight_ , damn it!" John shouted.

"You're letting your rage cloud your ability. Emotion is not an advantage, it only cripples." The vampire's calm tone merely stoked John's hate fire even more.

"I don't want your advise, _Obi Wan_ , I want to kill you!"

"Do you?" demanded Sherlock. "Because you're not trying very hard at the moment. You're just throwing a tantrum."

With a loud grunt, John pushed Sherlock away, lobbing him up against a tombstone. "Why?!" John demanded. "Why did you pretend to be my friend?"

Sherlock phased back to his human face. "It was _you_ who made a friend of me, John. But as to my actions, I assure you, my intent was always sincere. I wanted to help you."

"And why is that?" said John. "What the hell makes you any different than any other filthy leech on this planet?"

"His soul."

These two little words came from the blonde vampire who'd been standing off to the side. John looked at him in question.

Blondie sighed, looking up from inspecting his fingernails. "What? I was getting bored. He wasn't killing you, and you suck at fighting. I had to step in at some point. That is why our lord and master sent me." Blondie smirked at Sherlock. "Moriarty sends kisses, sweet boy."

"What are you talking about, his soul?" said John. "Is that a figure of speech? Because last time I checked, you demons don't have one."

"He does," said Blondie, nodding to Sherlock. He gave him an obvious once-over. "Such a _waste_. He was so beautiful when I created him. Passionate for the hunt...and in bed." Victor gave Sherlock a lewd glance. Sherlock merely glared back icily. "The blackest soul I had seen in a hundred years," Victor continued. "Bloodthirstier than that shark from those tiresome 'summer blockbuster' movies. Moriarty's favorite descendant." He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Then he drank that little nomad girl and got cursed and-"

"Cursed?" said John, looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded reluctantly. "As my dear sire, Victor Trevor, was saying...in the early 20th century, while visiting an associate, a Dr. Grimesby Roylott, who had a party of nomads staying on the outskirts of his estate, I...fed from and killed one of their daughters. I thought nothing of it at the time. They tracked me down and held me, while their witch woman cast a spell on me. I scoffed at the practice, thinking it simply superstitious mumbo-jumbo, till suddenly I felt a searing heat blossoming in my chest. You see, when a person is turned, they first die, then are resurrected as a perverted version of the person they were - a soulless demon. The fire I felt blazing in my heart was my soul being returned to me. I had been a vampire since the year 1895, frozen at the age of 21, and had two decades of sin under my belt - which I now felt  _remorse_ for."

"He's been on this stupid redemption kick for the last century," sighed Blondie - Victor. "He's the one who trapped poor Jimmy - that's Moriarty to you - behind the Reichenbach. Pushed him over the falls. His nomad buddies cast another spell, that couldn't be broken for a hundred years, that would keep Moriarty trapped there."

John looked at Sherlock. "But why did you turn against Moriarty?"

Sherlock laughed hollowly. "Because I have a soul. The same as you. Doesn't your soul instill you to do the good you do? So does mine. Only you don't have the abominable acts I've committed on yours to repent for."

"You feel guilty," John realized. "You hunt vampires...because you're paying for your sins."

Sherlock inclined his head, properly ashamed. "When I said I didn't touch your sister, I meant it. I haven't hurt a single human since my soul was returned. I was only at your flat because I'd caught wind of _him_." Sherlock pointed at Victor. "I knew Moriarty must have sent him. I thought the target was me, but apparently he was after you as well. He found out where you live. I tried to stop him, but I was too late, your sister had already invited him in. He'd knocked her out and bitten her neck. He didn't drink from her - I believe he had concocted a plan to set us against each other, Harry was only a prop. He heard you coming and tossed her into my arms, thus making it look as though I had attacked her from your point of view. The smell of her blood attracted me - and when you kissed me, I wanted your blood too - but I swear, I didn't harm her." Sherlock looked up at him. "If you still wish to kill me, I welcome your hand."

John swallowed hard. He balled his fists. And made a decision.

Slowly, deliberately, he stalked over to Sherlock. He stood in front of him, raised his head, gazing steadily into his eyes, then turned his head to the side. Offering him his neck.

John knew it was a gamble. He had no ace up his sleeve. But he was pretty sure Sherlock wouldn't hurt him.

And he didn't.

Sherlock touched his shoulder. A sign of allyship. Camaraderie. Affection. John looked up at him.

Sherlock tentatively smiled.

So did John.

Their moment was interrupted by Victor making gagging sounds. "This is frankly _disgusting_. Honestly. This is worse than those whores' bodies we ripped apart that one time, remember that, sweet boy?" Victor smirked at Sherlock nastily. "It'll be such a relief to my nauseated stomach when I've killed you both."

John laughed scoffingly, putting up his fists. "We're not scared of some Jack The Ripper wannabe."

"I _was_ Jack The Ripper," Victor retorted. "And you didn't think I came alone, did you?"

John and Sherlock looked around as several leering vampires crept out of the shadows toward them. Then they looked at each other. "Together?" John said.

"Together," Sherlock vowed. They sprung into action.


	13. Fangs For The Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some flirting and a little "Three Garridebs" for ya. (Bye bye, Victor.)

Together, they worked like a well-oiled machine. They dusted Victor's thugs with no issues, standing back to back. John was a force of power and strength, Sherlock using his speed and agility to his advantage.

Sherlock landed a well aimed stake to the heart of one vampire, then swiftly nabbed another, both of whom had been advancing on him at the same time. "Not bad," John said, catching one of his own. "...for an old timer." He barked a good-natured laugh.

"Ha! Show some respect for your elders, you young whippersnapper," Sherlock shot back, playing along. "You do know you're actually a year older than me, right?"

"Semantics," John replied, capping another vamp. "You've been alive longer."

Sherlock grunted, killing the last of their assailants. He and John grinned at each other over their shoulders.

Victor yawned loudly. "Bored now." He pulled out two pistols and shot at them. John gasped sharply and fell to the ground.

" _John!_ " Sherlock, with no hesitation whatsoever, wrestled with Victor and stabbed him in the chest. Victor grinned at him wickedly just before he crumbled into dust, singing mockingly, "Bang bang, my baby shot me down." His ashes fell to the ground at Sherlock's feet.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed again, dashing to the Slayer's side. "Are you alright? For God's sake, tell me you're alright!"

"Bastard nicked me in the thigh," John grunted.

"Let me see..." John blushed profusely as Sherlock unbuckled his belt and shimmied his jeans down his legs. Sherlock inspected the scrape and exhaled in relief. "You're right," he claimed. "It's quite superficial."

John sighed, leaning back on his elbows. "Glad no one saw that."

"What, the vampire attack or you getting shot?"

"You, taking my pants off in a quiet graveyard...people might talk."

"People do little else." A smirk grew on Sherlock's face.

They both giggled, relieved that the threat was gone. John grunted as he tried to get to his feet. "Mmph - help me, will ya?"

Sherlock obediently looped his arm around John's back as John hobbled along. "So..." said John. "You and Trevor were...together?"

"Not since I got my soul back," Sherlock said. He smiled wryly. "Why, you jealous?"

"Don't flatter yourself," scoffed John, but it was plain to see he was, a little.

Sherlock chuckled. "Sex. That's all it was. He found me, seduced me, and turned me. He wanted a consort, but most of all, a disciple. He wasn't exaggerating, I was quite the terror in my day."

"I know, I read about you in a book," said John. "I didn't know what to think. Then I came home to you holding my sister-"

"It wasn't the most foolish inference you could've made," Sherlock said. "I am sorry I didn't divulge the whole truth about my identity. But honestly, I didn't know..."

They had stopped.

John looked up at him. "Didn't know what?" he asked curiously.

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched shyly. "I didn't know how fond of you I would become," he admitted.

John smiled, feeling his cheeks heat up. He sighed, shaking his head. "A Slayer and a vampire..."

"We make quite a pair," Sherlock agreed, chuckling softly.

John drew a doodle in the dirt with his toe awkwardly. "Sorry about Victor," he murmured.

Sherlock snorted. "Don't be. All he was was a mistake. I should've killed him decades ago." He looked at John, shifted to support his weight better, and said, "Come. Let's get that leg some medical attention."

* * *

Two days later, Harry was departing, to John's relief. Although, he was surprised to find that he was actually sad to see her go. "Goodbye, Harry," said John, hugging her tight. "If you're ever in town again, ring me up."

"I might hold you to that, Mister," grinned Harry. Then her face fell slightly. "I'm not stupid, you know."

"What?"

Harry rolled her eyes. "Oh come on. A snake? Really? That's the best lie your silver fox friend could come up with? I get knocked out by a creepy pale weirdo and wake up with bite marks on my neck. It's not hard to figure out."

John swallowed hard. "Yeah. I guess not."

"So..." Harry shuffled her feet awkwardly. "They're real. Not just a story."

John laughed humorlessly. "I'm not sure anything's just a story anymore. But...bad things are out there. And I guess I'm supposed to take them out."

Harry looked at him sadly. "Why you? Why _my_ brother?"

"Cause it's my duty, sis. I was chosen. I don't have a choice."

"Of course you do," Harry insisted. Then she softened. "But you'll do it anyway. Because that's just who you are. You'll never leave the battlefield behind, will you?"

John shook his head. "You know me too well, Harry."

Harry smiled sadly. "Just...be careful, okay? I just got you back, Johnny. I couldn't lose you again." Then, a mischievous twinkle appeared in her eye. "You know...you never did tell me who your mysterious S is. It’s your Sherlock, isn’t it?"

John smiled sadly to himself. "It doesn't matter." John pulled his dog tags out from under his shirt and felt their smooth metal against his fingertips. "Not anymore...love you, Harry."

"Love you too, little bro," said Harry, kissing his cheek.

"Get out of here!" laughed John. "I'm only six minutes younger than you!" He was still laughing as he shut the door behind her.

"You should spend more time with your sister," said a deep voice that took John by surprise. John whirled around to see Sherlock sitting on his window ledge. He must have climbed up the tree outside. He hadn't seen him since that night. "You two seem very fond of each other," Sherlock continued.

"Yeah," said John. "We were close when we were younger. But, siblings fight, then she came out, had rows with our parents, left home when we were 16 and..." John trailed off.

Sherlock nodded. "I can understand. My older brother - when he was alive - we didn't exactly get along either. He died shortly after I did, and there was so much left unsaid."

"How'd he die?" John asked.

Sherlock looked up at him, his pale eyes bleak and chilling, yet soft with sadness. "You really don't want to know," he answered softly.

John felt a cold knot in his stomach. He pushed it down. "What are you doing here?" he asked, not unkindly.

Sherlock exhaled. "Saying goodbye."

"Oh." John shifted. "I see."

"It's better this way, I think. We won't distract each other now."

John smiled bitterly. "I guess you're right."

"I usually am."

John couldn't help but laugh. "Prick...where will you go?"

Sherlock breathed in. "Switzerland," he declared. "Moriarty won't rest till he's found a way to break free. And he _will_ break free, eventually. Someone has to be there to stop him when he does."

"And you're doing it all by yourself?" John inquired.

Sherlock smiled sadly. "I've been alone for a hundred years, John. I believe I can cope."

"You don't have to be alone," John blurted, his face growing warm.

Sherlock shook his head. "You can't come along, John. This city needs you."

John wasn't happy about letting Sherlock face Moriarty alone. But he was right, he was needed here in London. John licked his lips. " _Promise_ me, if you need my help..."

"I'll contact you directly," Sherlock swore.

John nodded. "Okay."

Sherlock rose and slowly crossed to him. "Well then..."

John felt Sherlock's cool soft hand steal into his and suppressed a shiver.

"Until we meet again, John Watson," murmured Sherlock, leaning forward. John craned his neck up to close the gap between them, meeting his lips in the middle.

This kiss was very different from the one they'd shared in this very spot only a little over twenty four hours ago. It was gentle, slow, and bittersweet. Their mouths lingered on each other, and were loathe to part.

But part they did, eventually. When Sherlock pulled away, John noticed a faint red imprint of a cross - a burn from his silver dog tags - seared into the slip of skin peeking out from Sherlock's open collar. Right above his heart.

"Goodbye," Sherlock whispered. And then John was alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't go nuclear! John and Sherlock shall be reunited, and soon. The next adventure, unfortunately, is "I, Robot...You Jane", which was a really bad episode, but I wanna focus on Molly and Greg for a little while, and also, it's necessary for the plot. Sigh...
> 
> Oh, and, come say hi on Tumblr: dread-pirate-redbeard. I post a lot of Johnlock, TJLC, Setlock, et cetera.


	14. Catfish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very John-and-Sherlock lite adventure. Sorry.

"Greg, it's locked up again," sighed Molly, leaning back from the computer screen. She'd convinced him to let her scan some of the Watcher's texts into the computer so it'd be easier to look up information, but the prehistoric computer on Lestrade's desk kept crashing on her.

"I know, I know," said Lestrade. "I called IT, they're sending someone."

"Oh good," said Molly. "So...how's John holding up?"

Lestrade sighed. "Training hard. Ever since Sherlock left, I guess he figured out he's going to have to up his ante, now that he's flying solo. But between you and me, I think he's distracting himself."

"Poor thing," sighed Molly. "I don't blame him one bit. Sherlock was very good looking."

"Wait..." Lestrade blinked. "You think they were..."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Oh come on. It was _so_ obvious!"

"Huh," remarked Lestrade. "I didn't think Johnny boy swung that way. So..." Lestrade peered at Molly out of the corner of his eye. "...that's the kind of man you like?"

Molly blushed. "...um...I like guys with a sense of duty. It's very attractive when a man has something to  _do_. A purpose, a calling, a cause...whatever you want to call it."

Lestrade smiled.

"Hello?"  _Rap rap._ A pretty woman with shoulder length blonde hair was standing in the doorway of Lestrade's office. "I'm Sophie from IT, I came to look at a computer?"

"Oh yeah, it's here," said Lestrade. Molly got up so Sophie could sit at the desk. "It keeps...freezing or something. I dunno, Molly here's the one that knows all that geeky lingo."

"You might need a virus scan, old computers like these tend to pick up a lot of malware over time - how old is this hunk of junk anyway? 1998? 1997?"

"I really don't know," Lestrade admitted, leaning over the IT woman's shoulder. "The department's too cheap to buy us new equipment unless it straight up breaks."

"Well, happen to have a hammer handy?" Sophie grinned at Lestrade. Lestrade laughed.

Molly cleared her throat. "Erm, Greg, I'm just going to go finish scanning these volumes on Sally's computer. It's newer and she never uses it anyway. I can email the files to myself and save them to your computer later."

"Huh? Oh yeah, sure. Thanks, mate," said Lestrade, his eyes hardly leaving Sophie.

Molly hurriedly gathered her books and equipment and let herself out. " _Mate_?" she grumbled under her breath.

She sat down at Sally's desk, miffed. Hardly anyone around her paid her any mind. She plugged the handheld scanner into the USB port and waited as the desktop read the new device. She opened up a large, dusty book with a depiction of a ram-horned demon etched into the leather cover. The book wasn't written in any language Molly recognized, but she figured Lestrade had some Watcher's manual that could decode it. If all else failed, there was always Google Translate.

Molly ran the scanner over the musty yellow pages. The inky insignias appeared on the computer screen. She was so busy watching the pages on the monitor, she failed to notice the writing in the book vanish after she scanned it.

Just as she was closing the tome, the computer chimed. A small box - a chat window - popped up in the corner of the screen.

> **Where am I?**

* * *

John was coming out of the small side room Lestrade had converted into a training studio for him - it was little more than a large closet, really - when he bumped into a very cheery looking Molly Hooper. "Hey there, sunshine," John said, grinning at her - her smile was infectious. He noticed dark rings under her eyes, miniscule veins of red cracking her corneas. "Didn't get much sleep last night, did we?"

"No," admitted Molly sheepishly. "I was up all night talking to a guy."

"Oh, talking, is  _that_ what the kids are calling it now?" John teased.

"Shut up, it's not like that!" Molly giggled, slapping his arm. "Really, we were just talking. None of that...for now." Molly smirked.

"So, who's the dude?" John said, crossing his arms. "Just between us girls."

"Okay, well...his name is Jonathan Small, he's 24, he lives in Dublin, and he's so sweet and smart, and we agree on everything," Molly sighed.

"That's great, Molls," said John, beaming. "What's he look like? Tall, dark, and handsome?"

Molly shrugged. "I don't know." She turned and went on her merry way toward Lestrade's office.

John blinked. "What?"

The Slayer followed the coroner into the Watcher's office. "Molly, how can you know this guy so well and not know what he looks like?"

"Oh, I met him online," Molly clarified.

"Online? On a dating app or something?"

"No, he just..instant messaged me one day," Molly said.

John tilted his head to the side. "Gee, if I didn't know any better, I'd say this guy was a bot."

"I've been chatting with him for the past week. He hasn't asked for credit card information or sent me any porncam links. He hasn't even said anything remotely lewd. So he must real, right?"

John had to give her that. "Call me old-fashioned, but I've always felt like romance should happen face to face."

Molly smiled at him. "You're a hopeless romantic, John Watson."

"So I've been told," sighed John.

"Morning, guys," said Lestrade, coming in. "John, anything to report on last night's hunt?"

"Nothing unusual," said John. "Pretty quiet lately."

Lestrade shook his head. "I don't like that. Too suspicious. Like when everything's still before a tornado. What about Moriarty activity, any word from...?"

John shook his head. "Nope. None." He seemed a little saddened by the mention of his ex-paramour. "Nothing rotten in the state of Switzerland."

Lestrade sighed. "Well...keep me on the up and up."

"Right-o," said John, getting up. "Well, I promised Sarah I'd be in early. See you tomorrow."

"Bye, John," Molly and Lestrade said as the Slayer left. "Hey, Molls," said Lestrade, turning to the coroner. "A few of us are meeting up for drinks tonight. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come along."

Molly grinned in surprise. "I would love to-"

"Hi!" sang out a voice as Sophie stuck her head inside the office. "I just came by to give you this." She handed Lestrade a coffee and a pastry in a bag.

"Ooh, apple fritter!" said Lestrade, gratefully taking it from her. "You're an angel."

"Oh, it was no bother," said Sophie, smiling. Then she looked at the coroner. "Oh, hi...Millie?"

"Molly," she corrected quietly.

"Oh, sorry," said Sophie guiltily. Then she turned her megawatt smile back to Lestrade. "I gotta dash. See you tonight?"

"Course. Bye!" Lestrade called after her gaily.

Molly stood up. "I would love to," she said again. "But I have computer work to do. I'll see you later." She hurried out of his office.

"Okay," said Lestrade, sounding surprised...and a little hurt. "Bye then."

* * *

That night, Molly was chatting with Jonathan again.

> **TheMayflyMan: I've never felt this way before you, Molly.**
> 
> **Molly_KittyCat: I know what you mean. I feel like you know me better than anyone.**
> 
> **TheMayflyMan: I do.**
> 
> **Molly_KittyCat: My friend John said you were a bot. LOL!**
> 
> **TheMayflyMan: He doesn't understand.**
> 
> **Molly_KittyCat: I know. He's going through a breakup. He's having trouble believing in love right now. :(**
> 
> **TheMayflyMan: His therapist thinks he has trust issues.**

That gave Molly pause.

> **Molly_KittyCat: How did you know that?**

After a second, Jonathan responded.

> **TheMayflyMan: You must have mentioned it.**

_But I didn't know that,_ thought Molly. _I didn't even know John had a therapist._

> **Molly_KittyCat: I have to go. TTYL.**
> 
> **TheMayflyMan: Don't.**
> 
> **MollyKittyCat: Bye.**

Molly suddenly had a bad feeling.

* * *

"Hi," said Sophie, sticking her head in the door of Lestrade's office. "Just thought I'd come by to pick you up."

"Oh...thank you." Lestrade smiled. "Just give me a sec to finish up this paperwork."

Sophie looked around his office. "Wow. You really have a lot of books."

"Er, yeah," said Lestrade, distractedly. "It's...sort of a hobby of mine."

Sophie idly ran her hand over the thick, worn, leather cover of one. "Wow," she remarked, looking at the cover. "That's a handsome devil right there. Emphasis on the devil. What's this book about, anyway?..." She opened it, but found the pages blank. "Is this is a diary or something?"

"Eh?" Lestrade cast his eyes on the book. "That's weird. Where'd that come from?"

"You don't know?" said Sophie.

"I...have lot of old books, it's hard to keep track of them all. That's why Molly was scanning them into the computer. She would have mentioned a blank book, wouldn't she?" Lestrade took the book and looked at the demonic etching on the cover. "Oh no," said Lestrade, starting to put the pieces together.

"What is it?"

"Ummm...Sophie, I can't go out for drinks after all. Gotta stay here and finish up some reports."

"Oh! Okay. I can wait." Sophie plopped herself in the chair across from Lestrade's desk.

Lestrade smiled weakly at her.  _Great._

* * *

Molly was humming, puttering around her living room, tidying up, when her computer chimed with a new email. Molly went over and opened it.

> **To: mollyhooper.angelmail.co.uk**
> 
> **From: themayflyman.emessenger.co.uk:**
> 
> _It's time we met._

Molly frowned hard. She deleted the email, then shut off her computer entirely. She picked up a tea mug sitting on her coffee table and started to go to the kitchen, when her computer inexplicably chimed  _again_. Molly shrieked, dropping the mug on the ground, startling her cat Toby from the room.

She was staring at her computer in horror when her phone rang. To her relief, it was Lestrade. She hurriedly picked up and said, "Greg, oh my God, something weird's going on here-!"

"I know, Molls, I know," said Lestrade quickly on the other end. He'd gone into the corridor to be able to call her without Sophie overhearing. "Listen, there was a book you scanned the other day. Big, old, leatherbound. D'you remember it?"

"Um...vaguely," said Molly. Her doorbell rang.

"I think it was holding a demon. Y'see, in olden times, they used to trap demons in books. The only way they could be released is if the book was read aloud."

"Well, I didn't read it aloud," said Molly, going toward the door.

"Yeah, but you scanned it into the computer. I think that released the demon, into NSY's Wifi network. I researched the demon, its name is Moloch, the Corrupter. This is a bad guy, Molly, very bad. You're good with computers, can you help me cast a spell or something to get rid of him?"

"Well I don't know that it'll be that simple-" Molly opened the door, but there was no one there. "Ruddy kids," she mumbled, turning away. "Maybe you could try - AHHHHH!" she screamed as a man grabbed her from behind. Molly dropped the phone.

 _Molly? Molly!_ yelped Lestrade into the phone.

Molly tried to scream for help, but the man pressed a cloth doused in chloroform over her face. Molly fought against him with all her might, but soon blacked out, falling limp in his arms. The man dragged her away.

* * *

Lestrade looked at Sophie in fear. "Something's happened! I have to go after her!"

"Oh no!" Sophie said. "Do you need to go? I can drive you."

" _Yes_ , but...shit, I really need to fix this thing here! We still have to cast a spell to exorcise the de-...I mean-" Lestrade suddenly realized he wasn't talking to one of his inner circle. "You know...you should probably go on and get out of here. This is police business."

"Yeah, but if there's a demon on the Internet, I could help you. Computers are kind of my specialty, after all."

Lestrade shook his head. "It's...not like a virus. It's a...well, I can't exactly explain it-"

"No, I understand perfectly. I've thought there was a demon online for a couple of days now. Power surges, data crashes. Plus the bones I was casting were spelling out trouble."

"Er...bone casting?"

Sophie blinked. "Oh. Right. Technopagan. Didn't I tell you?"

"Uhh...no. Must've missed that bit," said Lestrade, a little taken aback.

Suddenly, Lestrade's office phone rang. Lestrade lunged for it. "Molly?" he shouted into the mouthpiece.

"Um, _ow_ ," said John on the other end of the line. "Just me checking in. Tackled a nest of vamps in the park-"

"John, that's not important right now! Molly's in danger!"

"What?! What happened?" John demanded.

"I don't know! Can you go over to her place and check on her? I'm handling another crisis on this end."

"I'm on it. Keep me posted!" John hung up.

Lestrade looked sharply at Sophie. "Alright, Miss Technopagan. What do you know about demon binding?"

* * *

Molly was slowly coming to. When she opened her eyes, she found that she was lying in a dim room - the electrical room of NSY. She was sitting on the floor against the wall. As she slowly came to, she realized her wrists were handcuffed behind her, and her feet were bound by electrical cord. She gasped and started trying to jerk out of the cuffs, but to no avail. Looking around in a panic, Molly spotted a man standing with his back to her. "Help, help me!" she yelped.

"No," he said.

"Please," begged Molly. "I don't know what you want with me."

"Quiet. He is coming."

"Who?"

"Silence," ordered the man, and would speak no more.

* * *

"So John is the Slayer? That's kind of amazing. And you're his Watcher?" Sophie smirked at him over her shoulder as she sat as his desk. "Aren't you a little young for that job?"

Lestrade brightly blushed. "I, er...well...anyway. The demon. Moloch. Can you expel him?"

"Well...in theory. But he won't be gone for good. The way I see it, orally reading the book aloud would unleash Moloch on this plane, the physical world. But since Molly scanned him into the computer, he's in cyberspace. He's going to be building a vessel  - he probably already has. I can get him out of the 'Net, but taking him on physically is a whole other matter."

"Not a problem. We've got John for the punch-y jobs." Lestrade's phone rang again. "That'll be him. Hello?"

"She's gone, 'Straddie. Looks like she got dragged away by force. No sign of a break in so they must have tricked her into letting them in and took her by surprise."

"Wow, how'd you figure all that out?"

John laughed drily. "Picked up a few smarty pants tricks. From a friend. Anyway...where did these psychos take her?"

"I don't know. Can you...I dunno, track them?"

"I'm a Slayer, not a bloodhound. My skills are limited to stabbing things with pointy sticks. And lasting a long time in bed, but that's beside the point."

Lestrade groaned. "Molls...where are you?"

* * *

"Molly."

Molly looked up as a new voice called her name. "Who is that? Who's there?"

"It's me, my love. It's Jonathan."

"Jonathan..."

Molly heard a mechanic creak, like an electronic joint bending. "I thought it was time we finally saw each other, face to face."

There was movement from the shadows. A great figure emerged, and as it stepped into the light, Molly gasped.

Jonathan was a giant metal monster.

* * *

"Okay. I have the cyber-spell," said Sophie, holding up a flash drive. She had coded it on her personal laptop, with its own hotspot so Moloch couldn't hack her. "I plug this into your computer, the magic will spread through the network and bind Moloch to his vessel."

"I can't ruddy believe this. Cyber-sorcery. Whatever happened to a good old fashioned conjuring?...I just hope we're not too late," said Lestrade, rapping his fingers against the wood of the desk nervously. "We need to stop this thing so we can find Molly."

Sophie looked up from her work. "You really care about this girl, huh?"

Lestrade didn't answer.

* * *

"Look at me, Molly. For so many years, I was trapped in that book, until you opened my pages. You gave me power and knowledge when you put me in the Internet. But best of all...you gave me life. Because you love me. So I possessed this man and made him build a body for me. So I could walk. So I could talk. So I could..." He grasped the head of the entranced henchman and twisted it sharply, breaking his neck. "...kill."

"You...what are you?" said Molly, fearful for her life.

"I am...yours."

"What does that mean?"

"And you are mine. We belong together, Molly."

"No, we don't," said Molly, fervently shaking her head. "I'm not yours!"

"But...I love you. You are mine."

"Stop saying that! I'm not yours! You're a monster!"

"Jonathan" was quiet for a moment. Then he cocked his head at her. "Pity."

* * *

"Okay. Got the incantation?"

"Right here," said Lestrade, holding up his dusty old tome.

"Alright. Get ready to read." Sophie plugged the flash drive into Lestrade's computer. She watched as the software was downloaded into the technology. "Wait for it...now!"

Lestrade recited from the text. "By the power of the divine, by the essence of the word, by the power of the circle of Kayless, I command you: demon, come."

* * *

As the demon/robot reached out to kill Molly, he petted her hair softly. Molly flinched away from his blunt, metal fingers.

"I'll miss you," said "Jonathan".

He was about to break her neck too, when suddenly he collapsed on himself. "No...no!" he screamed.

* * *

"Demon, come!" Lestrade commanded. " _Come!_ "

Lestrade's PC blew sparks. Sophie leapt backward. "Whoa!" she exclaimed.

* * *

"Jonathan" straightened. "No! I am...trapped! Again! But at least I have this body. It will serve me well as I take over the world." "Jonathan's" head swiveled around to look at Molly. "Now I must kill you."

"No. No, please," whimpered Molly.

"What the hell's going on here?!"

Molly looked around the robo-Behemoth. "John!" she exclaimed, never so happy to see the Slayer in her life.

"Jonathan" turned to look at the Slayer, standing in the doorway. "You!" he roared. "This is your fault!" He swung to hit John.

The Slayer ducked. "Jonathan's" mighty metal fist smashed into the circuit breaker behind him.

* * *

The power went out in the entire building. Lestrade and Sophie looked up in surprise as the lights went out, leaving them in darkness. "Did-did we do that?" Lestrade asked.

* * *

Moloch screamed in agony as his vessel was electrocuted. The mighty metal monster slumped over, lifeless. John disdainfully kicked it over. "What the hell was that!" he asked Molly.

"Um...it was Jonathan," Molly admitted.

"Huh. Well...can't say I agree with your taste in men," said John.

Molly gestured to the cuffs. "Can you help me out of these?"

"Oh, yeah!" John looked around, spotted the key hanging on the belt of the dead henchman, and hurriedly began loosing Molly from her bonds. "Lestrade and I have been worried sick about you. Luckily I decided to swing by here to confer with him about how we could find you. I heard all this hullabaloo coming from in here, came to investigate, and...you know the rest."

"Convenient," laughed Molly weakly. As John took the cords off her ankles, she got to her feet. "Now - let's get out of here!"

* * *

A few days later, all was forgotten. There'd been a mysterious occurance at NSY - a vandal had smashed out the power grid and cracked the neck of a guard on duty, or so was the assumed story. The perp was still being looked for, but they guessed he probably wouldn't be found.

John and Molly were having coffee at Sally's desk. "So apparently this 'Moloch The Corrupter' drew spiritual energy from people by seducing them, so to speak," said John. "Promised them power, money-"

"Love," Molly added miserably. John rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. "I can't believe I got sucked in like that. You hear about it all the time. People meet people online, and they're never who they say they are. They're always perverts and psychotic murderers. Of course, none of them were apocalyptic _demon_ bad-"

"Hey, you didn't know," John said. "Besides, you're talking to the _king_ of Bad News Boyfriends. I'm the Slayer, and the first person I latch onto is a bloody bloodsucker!"

"Yeah, I guess that's true," said Molly, smiling a bit.

"Face it, Molls. None of us are ever going to have happy, healthy, normal relationships," John said, shrugging amusedly.

"We're doomed!" Molly agreed cheerfully. They both laughed until the morbidity of their situation set in on them and they stopped. They looked at each other uncomfortably.

"Um...I gotta go...train," said John, getting up. "See you, Molly."

"Yeah. Later," sighed Molly as John left. She sipped her coffee dejectedly. Then, a pair of giggles caught her ear and she looked up. Across the room, Lestrade and Sophie were carrying the components of Lestrade's new computer into his office, sharing jokes and flirtatious glances. "Well...maybe someone can," said Molly as she sadly watched them.

* * *

That night, John was sleeping fitfully. He was having another dream.

He was back in Moriarty's concealed cave behind the Reichenbach falls. Sherlock was there too, chained up in his usual position. But it wasn't so sexy this time. His face was swollen from bruising, and his bottom lip was split. He was slumped over in exhaustion. John longed to go and comfort him, but as usual, he was frozen in place.

Moriarty oozed into view. "Not so pretty now, is he, Johnny boy? Oh, but he's such fun!" He punctuated his question with a slap to Sherlock's face. Sherlock whimpered.

Moriarty grinned at John. "He's dying. But there's still time to save him. Come here. Face me. I have waited long enough."

"John..." moaned Sherlock thickly. Moriarty giggled and slapped his other cheek.

John sat up bolt-right, abruptly waking from his dream. "Sherlock," he gasped.


	15. Head Under Water

John shoved some clothes into a duffel bag. He'd just booked a flight to Bern, and he needed to be at the airport in 45 minutes. Luckily, the flight would only be about an hour. But then he actually had to get to the falls... _Oh God...what if I'm too late?!_

John didn't even bother to question the validity of the dream he'd had. But he was the Slayer. Prophetic dreams came with the package. He must be right.

_Hold on, Sherlock. I'm coming!_

* * *

> **[To: Molly Hooper]**
> 
> _Can you keep a secret? -John_
> 
> _What's up? -Molly_
> 
> _I had a dream. About Sherlock. He's in trouble. -John_
> 
> _Oh no! What can we do? -Molly_
> 
> _Moriarty has him trapped at the falls. He's going to kill him unless I go to meet him. I'm going to Switzerland. -John_
> 
> _WHAT?! -Molly_
> 
> _I'm letting you know in case there's an emergency. Don't tell Lestrade, he'll only freak out. I'll be back in a couple of days. -John_
> 
> _John, I don't know if I can keep this secret for that long. Are you sure about this? -Molly_
> 
> _Molly, for all I know he could already be dead! I have to do this. Please try to understand. -John_
> 
> _..._
> 
> _Alright. BE CAREFUL. -Molly_
> 
> _You're the best. -John_

* * *

John's plane landed in the early morning in Switzerland. He hadn't been able to bring any weapons with him (Sherlock's silver bullet gun was unregistered), but he could sharpen a few stakes on the way to the falls.

John would be lying if he said he wasn't scared of the prospect of facing Moriarty. But just as he was walking out of the airport, he felt a tremor coming from the earth. Everything started to shake. People were crying out in surprise, falling to the ground. John got down too and covered his head.

Then the quake was over. John looked around, seeing to it that no one was hurt. Then, slinging his bag over his shoulder, he nabbed a cab and headed for the falls.

* * *

"This is bad, guys." Lestrade was talking to Molly, Sally, and Anderson. "An earthquake in Switzerland. That's apocalypse signage 101. Moriarty might be about to be unleashed. And John's nowhere to be found!"

"Maybe he's dead," suggested Anderson shruggingly.

"I-I'm sure he's fine," Molly piped up.

Lestrade ruffled his silver hair. "I hope so. I'll been calling him and calling him, but his mobile goes to voicemail every time."

 _He must have turned off his phone when he boarded the plane_ , Molly thought. Just then, she got a text alert.

> **[From: NUMBER BLOCKED]**
> 
> _Is this Molly Hooper? -SH_
> 
> _Who is this? -Molly_
> 
> _I'm very cautious when it comes to anonymous people contacting me. -Molly_

"Uh oh."

"What?" said Sally to the Watcher, who had his nose buried in one of his books.

Lestrade was staring at the text before him, horrified. "Christ," he whispered.

"What is it?" said Anderson.

"The prophecy. About Moriarty. Oh no..."

> _This is Sherlock Holmes. -SH_
> 
> _Sherlock! Did John find you? -Molly_
> 
> _No, I am contacting you hoping you could pass on a message to him. He isn't answering his mobile. -SH_
> 
> _Hold on, John is looking for me? -SH_
> 
> _Yes, he flew to Switzerland this morning to come after you. He said he had a dream you were in trouble. -Molly_
> 
> _Please tell me you're making a joke. -SH_
> 
> _John CANNOT be in Switzerland. He's in danger! Tell me he isn't going to the falls! -SH_

"Greg, tell us what's going on," Sally urged.

Lestrade looked up at them all. "John's going to die."

Molly was frozen with horror. _Oh no. John's been led into a trap!_

* * *

John had reached the falls. In his hand he held a fat stick he had whittled on the way into a stake. "Please don't let me be too late," he murmured under his breath.

"John Watson."

John turned at the sound of his name being called. At the water's edge stood a pretty girl with long jet black hair and red eyes. "Who are you?" John asked.

"I am the Anointed One."

John blinked. "No. I killed the Anointed One...I think."

"I am here to lead you to Moriarty."

John held out his hand. "Lead the way."

Soo Lin took his hand and began leading him up the path.

* * *

"Molly, how could you not tell us?!" Lestrade exclaimed.

"He asked me to keep it a secret!" Molly retorted. "I didn't know he was going to his death!"

"What's the big deal?" said Anderson. "One Slayer dies, next one's called, right?"

"The big deal, you little toadstool, is that it's John! He's our friend! We all love him! He's saved all of us more times than we can count, and if he dies, I'll never forgive myself-" Molly's voice broke, and tears welled up in her eyes.

Lestrade sighed and hugged her around the shoulders. "It's alright. John's a clever fella. He'll be alright. I know he will."

* * *

"Hello?"

Soo Lin had shown him up to the secret passage into the cavern behind the falls and run off, and now John was left on his own. He walked into the area he'd never seen with his eyes before but already knew so well. There was the drowning pool. The roaring wall of rushing water. John looked where Sherlock was supposed to be chained up...but no one was there.

"There you are! You like to keep a fellow waiting."

John whirled around.

There he stood. Moriarty.

Moriarty chuckled, looking John up and down. "So here he is. The almighty Slayer. And a man for once! How delicious! Though to be honest, I'd thought you'd be-"

"Taller, yeah, I've heard it before." John glared at him. "Where is he?"

"Oh, Sherlock? Probably relaxing in his hotel room. Maybe showering with those tiny soaps, eating that little mint they leave on your pillow, flipping through the TV..." Moriarty smiled. "Sorry I had to trick you, Johnny boy. But it was the only way I'd ever get to see you in person."

"The dream," John realized. "It wasn't real."

"Yep!" giggled Moriarty. "Y'see, I'm not like other girls. I'm _special_. For example... _wheeeeee!_ "

As if pulled by an invisible string, John's body slid forward, in Moriarty's waiting grasp. Moriarty's white hand wrapped around John's neck and squeezed.

John struggled against him, and tried to stab him with his stake. Then Moriarty gazed into his eyes, and John froze, hypnotized.

"This is boring, to be honest," said Moriarty, yawning in his face. "I thought you'd put up more of a fight, being a soldier and all. Maybe the _next_ Slayer will put up more of a fight. Of course, they'll have more of a job to do, battling the apocalypse. You see, you were in such a hurry to save your precious Sherlock, you showed your hand. You didn't wait around to hear the prophecy about you. This is how we end, you and I. Y'see..." Moriarty pulled John close enough to whisper in his ear: " _You're the one that sets me free._ "

_No..._

Moriarty giggled. "If you hadn't come...I couldn't go! Think about that."

Moriarty's grip on John's windpipe tightened, and John couldn't breathe. _It's happening_ , he thought helplessly. He couldn't fight. He thought of his loved ones and apologized to all of them.  _I'm sorry, Lestrade, Harry, Molly...Sherlock. I love you all._

Moriarty forced John backward, to the drowning pool, and squeezed the last bit of life out of John. The last thing he could feel was Moriarty, laughing manically, and tossing him back into the water. Then everything went black.


	16. Both Showing Hearts

John supposed he was in heaven, because everything was bright. He'd always thought hell would be dark. He carefully opened his eyes.

Well. He hadn't expected heaven to be lit with fluorescent lights.

John let out a little groan as he tried to move his head. Then he heard a voice say his name: "John?"

A mass of black and white appeared into his view. John blinked several times and the figure came into focus. "Sherlock?" he mumbled.

"Oh, thank God, thank God," the vampire murmured, stroking his face and his hair in concern.

John smiled in spite of himself, the cool soft hands brushing his skin feeling like heaven. But John supposed it couldn't be heaven - vampires didn't go to heaven. "Where'm I?" he asked.

"In hospital. My associate Wiggins was just in time to save you. He administered CPR on you, bringing you back, and then brought you here. You must have only been dead a few minutes." Sherlock's voice turned sharp. "You idiot. Why did you go after Moriarty by yourself?"

"Had a vision. Bout you," John grunted, trying to prop himself up a bit on the hospital bed. "Moriarty was holding you captive. Was gonna kill you. Couldn't let that happen."

"You _idiot_ ," said Sherlock again, stroking his forehead. His voice and gaze were angry, but his caresses were gentle. "You could've contacted me."

"How?" John inquired. "You up and left. You didn't even leave a forwarding address." John laughed weakly.

Sherlock sighed. "Alright, that's true. But you could've have spoken with literally anyone. Your Watcher. He could've told you about the prophecy. I did try to get a hold of you, but you'd already gone."

"Sorry," John said. Then he thought for a second. "Actually, no. I'm not. If I had to go back and do it all over again, I'd do it the same way. I'm not sorry for being stupid if it's for the right reasons."

A reluctant smile finally sprouted on Sherlock's face. He sighed in defeat and kissed the Slayer's forehead. "I am not worth risking your life, John Watson," he gently admonished.

John shrugged. "And yet, here we are." He smiled up at Sherlock. Suddenly, something occurred to him. John scrambled to get up, saying,  "Oh God, Moriarty, he's still out there-"

"John, lie back," said Sherlock, gently pushing him back onto the bed.

"But I'm the Slayer! It's my fault he's out! People are in danger-!"

"Moriarty can do no harm now. He's very powerful, but not even he can survive the sunlight."

"S-sunlight?"

"Yes, John. It's four in the afternoon."

"Oh," said the Slayer. He laid back. "I guess we wait then."

"Excellent idea," said Sherlock, a touch sarcastic.

John looked at the vampire suspiciously. "Hang on, how did you get here to the hospital then? How did you not burn to a crisp?"

Sherlock looked sheepish. "I was hiding. Under that." He pointed to a heavy wool blanket lying on a chair.

John pictured Sherlock covered in the blanket, dashing through patches of sun, ducking into the shadows. He giggled at the thought. Then he caught sight of Sherlock's hand. There was an angry red welt on the back of it, where the sunshine had burned him. "Hmm. Didn't work all the way, did it?" John took his injured hand and lightly kissed the back of it. "Guess we're both idiots then - why didn't you just wait till after sunset to visit me?"

"I wanted to be here when you woke up. To make sure you didn't set off in some foolhardy venture to vanquish Moriarty by yourself again."

John raised an eyebrow knowingly. "And that's the _only_ reason?"

Sherlock sighed and touched his face. "No. I also came became...I'm incapable of leaving you alone."

"Then _don't_ ," John whispered, leaning forward to kiss him.

Sherlock kissed him back, and John smiled against his lips. He had missed him. "So," John murmured. "Couple hours till sunset. Whatever shall we do with all this time?" He waggled his eyebrows mischievously.

Sherlock smirked back at him. "I'm guessing you have a few ideas in that department?"

"I mean, it's not like we can... _ya know_...in this hospital bed, but..." John scooted over so Sherlock could lie beside him. Sherlock, thankfully, seemed to understand what he wanted, and climbed into the bed, cozying up to the Slayer. Their legs became entangled, their arms wrapped around each other in a secure embrace, and their foreheads pressed together.

Sherlock sighed happily. "I haven't done this for some time. What are you people calling it now?"

"I think the kids call it 'snuggling'."

"Sounds revolting." Sherlock smiled and shifted closer to John, softly kissing him.

* * *

The Slayer and the vampire stayed like that for the next few hours, entwined like strands of ivy, waiting for night to fall. Nurses came in occasionally to check John's vitals, Sherlock never leaving his side, but mostly they just talked, about how to take down Moriarty, about what John had been up to, about what Sherlock had been up to, occasionally sharing soft kisses, and sometimes just being quiet and looking at each other.

It was after one of these such spells that John swallowed and said to the vampire: "You'll come back to London with me...right?"

"Yes. Yes, I think I will," said Sherlock. "It's been my home for decades. I don't want to leave it. Or you."

"So...you were turned into a vampire in 1895. And you were twenty one. So you're...140 years old," calculated John.

"142. Yes."

John whistled. "Well...you look good for your age."

Sherlock chuckled. "Does it bother you?"

"Nah," said John, running his hand over Sherlock's upper arm. "Older men are sexy." He winked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Again: you're a year older than I am, biologically."

"Yeah...and I'm gonna keep getting older." John frowned, suddenly realizing the flaw in their relationship. "Oh God. What'll you do when I'm forty? Or _sixty_?"

"Well, like you said: older men are sexy." Sherlock smirked.

"I'm serious!" John stressed, sitting up. "A hundred years from now, you could be sitting here with my great-great grandson, and you won't look a day older. But I'll be long gone."

Sherlock looked at their clasped hands sadly. "I know. It's unfair. You can spend the rest of your life with me, if you like. But I can't spend the rest of mine with you. That's the real curse on me."

John squeezed his hand. He sighed. Then he said, morbidly joking, "Hey, maybe we'll get lucky. Maybe Moriarty'll kill us both tonight. We can die together, Romeo and Juliet style."

Sherlock snorted. He looked at the window, where the blinds were closed. But there was no light shining through the slats, save for a dark orange glow. "It's sunset," he said.

John swallowed, also looking at the closed window.

Sherlock sat up, touching his shoulder. "Are you afraid?"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. But..." John shook his head. "I dunno. It's strange, but...I feel strong."

"You _are_ strong," Sherlock affirmed. "You're the strongest person I've ever met."

John looked back at him. "Would you come with me?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded solemnly. "To the ends of the Earth. If you asked."

Their lips met, a silent vow of comradery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayyy, John and Sherlock fluffy tiemz! (*whispers* Please don't kill me for using that line from Fifty Shades of Grey.)


	17. Even When I Lose, I'm Winning

Nightfall. John marched confidently to the battlefield. "How do you know Moriarty will be where you think?" Sherlock asked, following faithfully behind.

"I just know," John replied.

They reached a giant field. "Potter's field," Sherlock remarked.

"Moriarty's army," said John, looking around. "Getting ready to rise." He looked at Sherlock, suddenly curious. "What is it like? Digging yourself out of your own grave?" he asked tentatively.

Sherlock looked back him solemnly. "Terrifying. Something I hope you never have to experience."

"Evenin', Shezza."

John jumped at the sudden voice and reached for his stake, but Sherlock grabbed his arm quellingly. "Relax. It's Wiggins." He looked up at the gaunt man who had appeared. He had short blonde hair and dark rings around his eyes. "Hello, Billy." Sherlock turned to John and added, "Wiggins is half demon. He's precognitive, like you, only a bit more focused. He's the one that saw you dying."

Billy Wiggins nodded to him then to John. "See Sleepin' Beauty's awake then."

John flushed slightly. "Er, yeah. Thank you...Wiggins."

"Yer can thank me by killin' the Kingpin," grunted Wiggins.

"You can count on that." John looked back at Sherlock. "Shezza?"

"Hush."

"No but seriously,  _Shezza_?" giggled John.

"No but seriously,  _hush_ ," said Sherlock insistantly. "Listen...do you hear that?"

The earth was shifting underneath their feet.

"The dead awaken," whispered Sherlock.

John grabbed his stake and twirled like a baton in his hand. "Everybody get ready then."

"We're ready," said a new voice.

John looked up in surprise. Molly and Lestrade were approaching, heavily armed. Molly was grinning. "Didn't think we'd let you have all the fun, did you?"

"Guys!" John grinned. "Lestrade, I'm sorry-"

"Eh, save it," said Lestrade. "You are in a heap of trouble once we get back to London."

"If there's a London to go back to," Sherlock pointed out.

"Always Mr. Positive, this one," remarked Lestrade.

A hand shot out of the earth. The first of the vampires were digging their way out.

"It's go time, boys and girls. Girl," Wiggins corrected himself.

"John. Here," said Molly, handing him his special gun. "Thought you might need this."

"You're fab, Molly Hooper." John stuck it in the back of his jeans. "Let's go."

The first wave of vampires came at them. The five fighters leapt into action. They kicked and punched and stabbed their way through the mob. John and Sherlock again found themselves back to back, facing off against the monsters. "By the way, I didn't get to tell you," John muttered, after dusting one of the vamps. "I really missed you."

Sherlock smiled over his shoulder. "Missed you too. _Unh!_ " he grunted as he took another vampire out.

"We've got them on the run!" Lestrade announced. Sure enough, their numbers were dwindling.

"John, you need to stop Moriarty," said Sherlock.

"But what about the rest of you?" John asked.

"We can handle these guys," Molly replied. "Go, John."

"We believe in yer, Sleeping Beauty," added Wiggins. "Take that fucker down."

John looked at Sherlock. "Alright. I'm going. It's time." He grinned mischievously. "Snog for good luck?"

"Oh for God's sake," muttered Sherlock in annoyance. But then he grinned back and kissed him. "Good luck, Slayer," he said.

John nodded and headed for the mausoleum. _Why is it always mausoleums?_

* * *

The door opened with a creak and John marched down the stairs into the underground lair. For a flair of dramaticism, John jumped the last three steps, landing in a cool pose with his gun in hand. Moriarty and two of his henchmen stared at him in shock. "This can't be!" Moriarty exclaimed. "I killed you! You're dead!"

John smirked. "I may be dead. But I'm still hot. Which is more than I can say for you."

Moriarty looked at his henchmen. "Well? _Get him_ _!_ "

John whipped out his stakes and dusted the vamps no problem. He marched up to Moriarty, holding the barrel of his gun to Moriarty's chest. Moriarty laughed. "That's adorable. A itty bitty little bullet can't kill me."

"You're right," John agreed. "It can't. Unless it's silver. Moron." He fired.

Moriarty gasped as the bullet pierced his heart. He began to crumble around the edges.

John grinned. "Love from Sherlock Holmes."

Moriarty slowly smiled. "Thank you," he whispered as he faded into dust. " _Bless you_."

His bones clattered to the floor.

John stared at them. Then he picked up a brick from the floor, and brought it down hard on the ex-vampire's skull, crushing it. "Ashes to ashes," he muttered to himself.

"Dust to dust," finished Sherlock as he entered. "Well done, John."

John shrugged, tossing the brick aside. "All in a day's work. So, wanna make out?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Is that all you ever think about?"

"No. I have other thoughts. But I fight 'em." John grinned wolfishly.

" _Ahem_ ," said another voice as the other three came in. "Hate to break up the party, but we do have to get back to London," said Lestrade.

John shrugged at Sherlock. "Another time then, love."

Sherlock chuckled as they walked up the stairs together. "Try not to be too hard on him, Lestrade. After all...he did save the world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And season 1 is in the books! Sorry I haven't posted in a while, but I've been super busy with rehearsal for a play and filming for another thing I'm in. Season 2 will start real soon. :) Oh, and come see me on Tumblr: dread-pirate-redbeard.tumblr.com. I'm following all the SDCC Sherlock news: it's lookin' pretty good for canon Johnlock season 4! :D -Catie (5AOM)


	18. Home Sweet Home

"It's insane," yawned John as he staggered out of the airport. They'd just touched down back in London. "I slept basically all day, yet I'm exhausted. What the hell?"

"You did _die_ today, John. It's only natural. Not only that but you got into a battle with a major vampire," said Sherlock, right at his side. "Let me take you home. You can get some sleep in your own bed."

"Mmm," hummed John, dropping his head on the vampire's shoulder. "Rather be sleeping next to you."

Sherlock smiled and kissed his hair. "I'll stay over, how about that?"

"My bed's pretty cramped. Hope you don't mind snuggling again." John winked.

"Not at all," chuckled Sherlock. "Besides, it can't be much smaller than that abominable hospital gurney."

John sighed as Sherlock hailed them a taxi. "Ah, London. Home sweet home."

* * *

Across town, two figures on a motorcycle zoomed onto the lawn of a stately manor, crashing into their statue of Saint Zachary. Cackling, the driver hopped off and removed her helmet. She was a tall, statuesque redhead. She surveyed the house. "What do you think, my darling? Will it be suitable for my princess?"

The second rider, the woman who'd been straddling her back, also reviewed the house. She had ebony black hair, crystalline blue eyes, skin as white as bone, and lips as red as blood. They curved into a wicked smile. "It'll be our perfect castle, Katie," purred the second woman, nuzzling the redhead's neck.

"Oi! Who the hell are you birds and what the bloody hell are you doing on my property?!" The owner of the house had come out in his slippers and dressing gown and was now standing on his porch, staring at them. "I'll call the coppers, I will!" he threatened.

The brunette pouted at the redhead. "That man is shouting. I don't like shouting."

"Aww, my poor little princess." Kate kissed the top of her head. "Would you like me to play the quiet game with him?"

The brunette woman gasped happily. "Will you?"

"Of course, dove. I'll take care of the nasty man, and then we'll move into our new home."

The brunette woman grinned evilly. "Yay!"

Kate smiled back. Then her face shifted into that of a vampire. She whirled around and growled at the man.

The man shrieked. "Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed.

"Your God can't save you now," snickered Kate. She leapt at the man.

Two minutes later, she was emerging from the ground, where the man's body lay, her mouth stained with his blood. She shifted back to human face.

The brunette woman giggled and came over to her lover. "You killed him all good and proper, Kate. Like a cheetah. Rawr." The brunette made claw hands at Kate.

"That's right, I did. And now..." The brunette woman squealed as Kate swept her into her arms, like a groom would his bride as he carried her over the threshold of their new house. "Ah, London," Kate sighed as she took the woman inside. "Home sweet home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we have a redheaded lesbian vampire named Kate. Can you guess who the other woman is? ;)


	19. A New Threat

John gradually awoke to the sensations of long arms wrapped around him and his nose being pressed into the breast of an expensive suit. He slowly smiled and brought his head up to look into the face of his beloved Sherlock. "Hey, you," he said.

"Hey yourself," replied Sherlock, smiling back. "Sleep well?"

"Like a baby," sighed John, stretching slightly, and pulling Sherlock closer. "I could sleep like this every night."

They both froze as they realized what John had said. "Would you...want to?" Sherlock asked timidly.

They had yet to put a label on what exactly their relationship was. John finding out Sherlock was a vampire and Sherlock running off to Switzerland had definitely put a hold on the way things were proceeding. But now that Sherlock was back in his life, hopefully for good...

"I just..." John licked his lips. "I don't know what I want right now. I know I like you...a lot. In a perfect world, where you were human and I didn't have my responsibilities, I'd be all over you."

"It must be difficult to be with someone you can't even see in the sunlight," Sherlock admitted.

"But I don't want...whatever _this_ is to end either," said John. "I...can we...take it slow?"

Sherlock exhaled, and John realized he must have been holding his breath in anticipation...well he would have been, if the vampire could breathe. "Slow is fine with me," said Sherlock in earnest, smiling shyly.

John grinned in relief. "Good. Good."

"Um...is _this_...too fast?" Sherlock cautiously cupped his face.

"No, no, that's...perfectly alright," said John, his eyes fluttering shut as Sherlock brought their mouths together, softly kissing him. It was sweet and not very long. After a tiny moment of looking into John's eyes for reassurance, Sherlock kissed him again. This time their lips lingered, slowly sliding against each other, interlocking over and over again. Every tiny moment was approached with caution, but the energy between them was gently building. They could feel that they both wanted to go faster, further, but it was an unspoken agreement between them: _this is special. Slowly, gently._

The tip of Sherlock's tongue was just lightly tracing the swell of John's bottom lip when a thought suddenly popped into his head. "Sarah!" he exclaimed.

Sherlock frowned at him. "John, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't shout the name of your previous paramour while I'm kissing you."

"No, no, Sarah, she's my boss, I was supposed to work today! The time..." John crawled over the vampire's bony frame to check the clock beside his bed. "11:13," he groaned. "Oh my God, I was supposed to be at work over three hours ago." He got out of bed and pulled his phone out of his bag that he'd unceremoniously dropped on his couch before falling into bed. He turned it on. "Jesus Christ, 3 voicemails! I'm so dead!" John dialed his boss's number.

Sarah picked up on the second ring. "John? Where are you?"

"I'm sorry, I had really bad jet lag and I just collapsed when I got in this morning. I forgot to set my alarm. I'll be there in half an hour," John babbled.

Sarah sighed. "Alright. Hurry, please, it's been busy this morning."

"Roger." John hung up. He cast a look back at his lover, who was still sitting on his bed. "I have to go. See you tonight for hunting?"

"I'd love to see you tonight," said Sherlock. "But I think you should take a rest from hunting tonight. The king of the undead has been vanquished - the underworld is still going to be in shock. You won't run into any danger for a while. We can go out instead."

John smiled. "Like on a date?"

"Isn't that where two people who like each other go out and have fun?" Sherlock smiled back.

"Yes, yes it is."

Sherlock stood up and took his hands. "Then yes. It is a date."

John grinned and pulled him down for a kiss.

* * *

"Sarah? You wanted to see me?" said John, poking his head inside his superior's office.

"Yes, come in, please."

"Look if this is about this morning-" said John, sitting down before Sarah's desk.

"John, please, I know you have...extenuating circumstances," Sarah said slowly. She still didn't want to know the whole story about vampires and zombies and such, but she understood that John had an important duty, and she was discreet about it. "I've moved passed that. But the benefactors are to be given a party tomorrow night, which the big guys upstairs just dumped in my lap this morning, and I was hoping you could help me."

"I'm your guy, Sarah. You can count on me," said John, grinning.

Sarah sighed. "Oh God. Thank you. It's important this goes well. A good show could result in a boost in donations to the clinic. I'm depending on you, John."

John nodded his head. "Hang some streamers, serve some punch, just for one night? It'll be like a vacation. No sweat."

* * *

John was walking home in the dark, whistling merrily, feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Then a rustle from behind the bins in the alley gave him pause. "Hello?" he said, looking into the darkness.

An elegantly dressed, tall, willowy redheaded woman emerged from the shadows. "Hello, Slayer," she said.

"Hello," said John slowly. "Who're you?"

She smiled at him. "I'm Kate. And on the night of the next full moon, I'm going to kill you." Her pretty face contorted into the wicked sneer of a vampire.

John instinctively drew his stake.

"Oh no, love, not yet. There'll be time to fight. I just wanted to give a fair warning, so you'd be able to train yourself up to it. Or run away in fear, that'd be quite nice. I love a good chase." Kate shifted back to human face. "Until the full moon, Slayer." She turned and walked away.

John bared his weapon and ran after her. But Kate, expecting a sneak attack, lazily reached back and flung him into a brick wall. His back made a dent in the bricks as he hit the surface. John fell the ground, winded.

John heard Kate's tinkling laugh as she disappeared. "See you soon..."


	20. Hell On Heels

"John!" said Sherlock in surprise as he ambled toward him. The vampire had been waiting for him outside his building. "My God, what's happened to you?"

"Some crazy woman in an alleyway - vampire - think she recracked that rib," grunted John. "Just a fracture, though. I'll be okay. I need to change my clothes. Can we go up?"

"Of course." Sherlock kept his hand pressed to the small of John's back as they went inside. "You killed her, right?"

"Tried," said John as they entered the lift. "She didn't actually attack me. She told me she was going to kill me on the night of the full moon. She acted like an old friend inviting me round for tea. Her name was Kate."

Sherlock tensed. "Describe her to me."

"Er...tall, red hair, really gorgeous, like a model."

Sherlock swore. "Why the hell is she back in town?"

John lifted an eyebrow. "Old friend?"

"You could call it that. Did she have anyone with her? Another woman perhaps?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Goddamn," Sherlock whispered under his breath. He looked at John intensely. "You must beware of her, John. Kate is dangerous. She was known as Katherine The Bloody at one point."

"Big deal," snorted John. "I killed Moriarty, remember?"

"John, she's killed two Slayers in her lifetime," Sherlock said. "No other vampire's ever done that, not even me. Most of our kind don't even survive one encounter with a Slayer."

John lifted his eyebrow. "Seriously? Huh. I'm a little impressed."

"Don't be impressed, be _worried_ ," Sherlock stressed. He sighed. "Well, we have several nights till the full moon. No need to let it ruin our night."

John grinned and bumped him playfully. "That's the spirit. So, I'll get myself changed, and then we'll hit the town."

Sherlock smiled. He seemed almost...giddy. It was rather adorable. "Okay."

* * *

The two had a wonderful night. They grabbed dinner and then caught a screening of  _Casablanca_. John nudged him. "Not too dull, boring, predictable?" he teased.

Sherlock hid a blush. "Nothing about you is dull, John Watson," he muttered.

They parted ways at John's door, topping things off with a goodnight kiss. John would've liked to have invited him for more, but...they had agreed. Slowly. Gently.

The next day, John was helping Sarah host the party. They had done a good job setting up. The tables were set out, bowls of snack foods were scattered around, quiet pleasant music was playing. The executives were milling about, seemingly have a not-bad time.

Sarah seemed stressed. "Everything needs to be perfect, John," she groaned. "Punch! Do we have punch?!"

"It's in the break room, chilling in the fridge," said John quellingly. "I'll go get it."

Just as he was turning away, the entire room went dark. "Oh no," said Sarah. Luckily, the back up generator brought up the emergency lights.

"Hey, calm down, it's probably just a flipped circuit," said John. "I'll go take a look."

"Oh, you're not going anywhere," purred a female voice. John's head whipped around.

Kate was standing in the doorway, with a crew of vampires. She grinned wickedly at him. "What can I say? I don't like waiting."

 


	21. Hostage Hospital

"Friend of yours?" muttered Sarah to John.

"Define 'friend'," John replied, his eyes boring into the vampiress.

"As in undead and fangy?"

"Oh. Yeah. Friend."

"Shit."

"What is the meaning of this?" said one of the big wigs. "This is a private gathering."

"Well, I do love parties," said Kate, stalking forward, her high-heeled boots making her tall, willow figure even more lengthy. "The decorations, the conversation. And most importantly." She grinned at the exec, her face morphing into that of a monster. "The _refreshments_." She grabbed him by his chubby neck and bit down, sucking him dry. She dropped the man's corpse on the ground and daintily flicked a driblet of blood from the corner of her lips.

Everyone started screaming. They ran for the exits, but Kate's henchmen blocked the exits. They leered demonically at the poor, frightened patrons, licking their chops and snickering.

"No one leaves. And no mobiles," Kate added, striding across the room and snatching the phone from one brave soul's hand, breaking it in half as if it were a mere graham cracker. The individual cowered. Kate looked around and smiled. "Now that I've had a bite to eat - to business. Oh, Slayer! Come out, come out wherever you are!"

"I'm right here," growled John, taking a step forward.

"So nice to see you again, Goldilocks," Kate smiled primly. "Shall we play a game?"

"Not really in the mood for games," John replied.

"But it's a party!" pouted Kate. "It's the perfect time for games. Or shall my darlings make snacks out of your lovely guests?" She looked around at them. "They do look so ripe, and there's plenty to share."

"No one touches anyone," John declared, putting his foot down. "What's this game?"

"It's called...'Hostage Hospital'," said Kate, smirking. "I get to keep your guests as collateral, and I get to hunt you and...let's see, that sweet little thing standing next to you," said Kate, pointing a finger at Sarah. "I give you a headstart of five minutes, and we stay within the confines of the hospital. And no phoning the police - that would be cheating! If I kill you, my friends feast. If you kill me, they go away with no muss, no fuss."

"Fine, I'll play your stupid bloody game, but Sarah stays out of it," John spat.

"Oh, defensive, are we? In that case, I _insist_ she join our game," Kate grinned. "Do we have a deal?"

John looked at Sarah. "I'm so sorry about this. But we have to play."

Sarah nodded nervously. "S'not exactly the first time you've put me in danger."

"I'll protect you, I promise," John swore. Then he looked at Kate. "Deal."

"Good, and may the best team win. That's me, by the way." Kate looked at her watch. "Your time begins... _now_."

John grabbed Sarah's hand and turned down the hallway and ran with her. "Good hunting, John Watson!" they heard her call down the corridor after them.

They'd been running for two minutes when John stopped and wrenched open a janitor's closet. "John, we've got to run, we haven't time for this!" Sarah exclaimed in distress.

"Need bleach - gotta confuse the scent," John muttered furiously. He found a large bottle and began sloshing it about on the floor. "Come on!" He led Sarah down the corridor, pouring a trail of the stuff behind them. When they got to a junction in the hallways, John tossed the bottle to the side and pointed to the right. "This way, come on!"

"Shall we go upstairs?" Sarah suggested as they raced away.

"Perfect! Ooh, power's out, can't take the elevator. The stairs! Hurry!"

* * *

"Aaaaaand...time," said Kate, a sinister smile spreading across her face. "I do love the chase." Cackling wickedly, she hurried off behind them.

* * *

"She's going to find us, John," Sarah whimpered. "We need to get out of here!"

"If we try to escape, they'll kill the others," said John. "It's going to come to a fight, whether we like it or not. I just wish I had a stake - or something silver-"

"I've got a silver letter opener in my desk!" Sarah said, inspired.

"Great! Lead the way." John pulled out his cell phone. "I need to text someone."

"That woman said no police!" Sarah reminded him.

"Don't worry. He works off the radar."

* * *

Kate whistled blithely as she sauntered down the hall. Her high heel landed in a puddle and she looked down in surprise. "Ooh, I thought I smelled bleach! Nice trick, Slayer, very clever. But I'm still going to find you," she sing-songed.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to play with your food?" asked a deep voice from the shadows.

Kate whirled around as another tall slender figure came into the dim light. "God bless my non-existent soul. Sherlock Holmes as I don't live and breathe."

"Hello, Kate," said Sherlock coolly, having shifted into vamp face. "You look well."

"Don't I?" smirked Kate. "I've come to kill the Slayer. Again."

"You're a brave soul to try to tackle that one," said Sherlock. "He killed Moriarty just days ago."

"I heard. Figured a worthy enemy had finally come along," Kate declared.

"Can I be of any assistance?" Sherlock offered silkily.

"Of course, darling, I'd be delighted. It'd be just like old times. I'll get the Slayer, and you can have his pretty little girlfriend. Not your usual taste, I know, but Watson is mine."

"I understand completely," Sherlock agreed. He gestured down the hallway. "Ladies first?"

"Oh no, after _you_. I insist." Kate smiled.

Sherlock shrugged and began leading the way, when Kate suddenly grabbed him by the back of his suit and threw him into the wall. His body made a significant dent in the drywall, and Sherlock crumpled to the ground with an undignified grunt.

"Do you really think I'm that _stupid_?" Kate sneered. "You reek of that Slayer's cheap aftershave. I can't  _believe_ you! You were my role model, you were my sire!"

"Er," grunted Sherlock as he stretched his aching body. "Technically, I'm just your grandfather. Your official sire is-"

"Oh, I know how it works!" grumbled Kate. "The point is, _old man_ , you've gone soft."

Sherlock rubbed his shoulder as he glared up at her. "Things change."

" _Not_ us, not _demons_!" Kate declared. "You - you Uncle Tom!"

"Call me what you will," said Sherlock coolly. "You're not laying a finger on John."

"Ohhh," breathed Kate, raising an eyebrow, the truth dawning on her. "Oh, the hypocrisy. I may like to play with my food, but at least I'm not _hooking up_ with it!" She grabbed his head and slammed it against the wall, effectively knocking him out. Then, as she turned away, her face vamped out. "No more games," she growled. "This just got real."


	22. Draw

"Come on, come on, is it in there or not?" John said.

"I'm _looking_!" Sarah barked as she shuffled through her desk drawers.

"Well look faster!"

"Here!" Sarah said, handing John the letter opener.

"Oooh, that looks dangerous."

John and Sarah's heads whipped around.

Kate was standing in the doorway of Sarah's office. She clucked her tongue at them, mockingly disdainful. "Shouldn't play with knives, naughty children. Someone might get hurt."

"That's what I'm counting on," said John, cracking his neck threateningly.

"Aww, isn't he the most adorable?" cooed Kate, looking at Sarah. "So tiny and full of rage - like an angry little hedgehog."

"Getting really tired of you leeches reminding me of how short I am," said John. "So, are we going to keep wittering on all night, or are we going to fight?"

"Sounds fun to me," said Kate. She motioned toward herself temptingly. "Gimme your best shot, Goldilocks."

John rushed at her. Kate easily deflected his initial strike and punched him in the stomach. It barely phased John, and he went in for another round. He and Kate sparred back and forth some time, before John finally got a clear shot to her chest and sank the letter opener deep into her chest.

"AHH! AHH!" Kate cried in agony, gripping the opener. "Oh God, the pain! The pain! I'm dying! Ahhhhhh..." Kate trailed off and grinned at John. She casually pulled the knife from her bosom. "Not silver - just fancy stainless steel. Someone got gypped." Kate tossed the opener aside. "I don't really need weapons. Like to do my own fighting. Now..." She morphed into her demon face. "Dinner time!"

But as she began to advance on them, something struck her from behind and Kate was knocked unconscious. John and Sarah looked up at their savior. John grinned. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock, gripping a steel bar, smiled at him, then looked down at Kate, passed out on the floor. "Just giving back what she gave me. No one eats my boyfriend."

John turned pink. "Uhh...boyfriend?"

"Oh!" Sherlock blushed too. "I-...is it too soon for labels?"

John bit his lip as he smiled like an idiot. "It's not too soon for me if it's...not too soon for you."

"It's not too soon for me," said Sherlock, looking away bashfully. He peered at John through his eyelashes.

John and Sherlock just kept smiling at each other, like the lovestruck idiots they were.

Finally, Sarah said, "Hel-LO?! Evil bitey lady on the floor! Maybe we should get to the kill-y bits?"

"Ah, yes, right," said Sherlock, coughing.

"Yeah, urm, stake?" John asked. He grinned sheepishly. "Kinda was under prepared for a vamp attack."

"Oh, here," said Sherlock, pulling a spike out of the back of his trousers.

"Thanks, love," said John, taking it and twirling it playfully in his hand. He grinned like a dope at Sherlock again. "I love callin' you that. 'Love'."

"I love it too," Sherlock replied, his cute little smile returned.

"Guys!" Sarah shrieked.

John and Sherlock looked around. Kate was balanced on the sill of the office's open window. She grinned wickedly at them. "We'll call this round a draw. Till next time, loverboys." She nodded to Sarah. "Teddy Graham." She jumped from the window to the ground two floors below and took off into the night.

"We must go after her-"

"No, not now," said John, holding his _boyfriend_ back. "Kate's dirty dozen are still down there with the hostages. We need to get down there."

* * *

Luckily, as soon as the vampires saw John and Sarah alive and well - and no Kate - they took off in fear. Except for the one guy from before, no one was hurt. "Sarah, this one's still alive!" John said, checking him over.

"Oh, shit! We need to get him a transfusion, stat!" Sarah said.

"Sherlock, help us pick him up!" John called. The two super strong men carried the fat partygoer into an emergency stall. Sarah scrounged up some blood (luckily the man's type was on file), and together they were able to save the man's life.

"Well done," said Sherlock as he and John were walking out into the night air, as the relieved hostages staggered homeward. "You were a hero."

"Ah, come on," shrugged John. "You're the one what came and saved my bacon."

"No, I meant with the dying man. And all the other hospital patrons as well. All I was concerned with was killing Kate, while you focused on the important thing: saving lives. I'm proud of you. To be honest, I've been dead so long, sometimes I forget the value of human life." Sherlock smiled at John, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight. "You make me want to be a better man."

John lightly bumped him. "You're already pretty good, love. Better be careful, you might upgrade from vampire to angel."

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, John, but never mistake me for being one," Sherlock replied.

"Ah, I dunno." John put his hands on Sherlock's hips, pulling him close. "You look the part enough. Glowin' in the moonlight an' all." He grinned.

"Dr. Watson, you're trying to seduce me," Sherlock quipped playfully, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well, can't really blame me," John said. "You are my _boyfriend_ now, after all."

"Yes. I suppose I am," said Sherlock, laughing quietly. "You know, at 142, the title seems a bit juvenile...but for some reason, I still like it." He leaned down and met John's lips.

They kissed for a minute, then John pulled back. "So. How do you know Kate? I mean really."

Sherlock sighed guiltily. "I know her because...I made her."

"You...you turned her into a vampire?" John asked, shocked.

"Well, not directly. Technically she's my 'granddaughter'. You see, a vampire's descendants are all contained in the same line. Moriarty made Victor, Victor made me, I made Kate's sire, and she made Kate."

"I just can't believe _you_..." John trailed off.

Sherlock looked down, ashamed. "Before my curse, I did...unspeakable things. Things I wish you didn't have to learn about."

"But that was the old you," John said. "None of that is your fault."

Sherlock looked at him, and John could see the heavy burden in his pearlescent eyes. "Isn't it?" he whispered.

John didn't want to answer that. "And who is Kate's sire?" he finally asked.

"Someone who I hope very much is dead, for all our sakes," said Sherlock darkly. "If that person were to come around...it could be potentially cataclysmic. However, she and Kate are rarely separated. If she was alive, we would have seen her tonight."

"Good," said John, nodding. "Hey, it's late. I'm heading home. See you later?"

Sherlock nodded. "Pleasant dreams, John." He slowly turned and disappeared into the darkness.

John sighed, wistfully watching him go. "My love life sure is complicated."

* * *

"Katie? Sweetie?" said the brunette she-vamp as the redhead stormed into their nabbed mansion. "Did you kill the nasty boy?"

"No," Kate growled, stripping off her leather jacket and pulling off her boots.

The brunette pouted at her. "Why not?"

Kate glared at her. "Because he's _Daddy's_ new favorite fuck toy."

The other woman gasped. "Billy? Our Billy?"

"It's Sherlock, sweetheart. And yes," Kate grouched, plopping onto the couch.

"Ohhhh," sighed the brunette, coming up behind her and rubbing her shoulders. "Poor Katie. Don't worry. We'll get them. Billy  _and_ that nasty Slayer."

"Mmm, that's right," sighed Kate as her lover relieved the tension in her achy muscles. "I'll chop him into messes."

"Ooh, sounds delicious," giggled the brunette.

"Don't worry, darling," said Kate, stroking the other girl's cheek with her fingertip. "We'll feast on Slayer blood. And we'll make that traitor watch." She moaned in ecstasy as her lover hit just the right place. "Ahhh, yes. You know just where to touch me. I love you, Irene."

Irene just replied with a kiss to her neck and a playful " _rrrrrruff!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, to no one's surprise...the new lesbian vamps in town are Kate and Irene! So, uh, why no comments, guys? :(((
> 
> I think the next episode I want to do is "Nightmares". It's a bit out of order, but it's one of my favorites. Then I'm doing "Lie To Me". :)


	23. Nightmares

It all started on an usually quiet Tuesday.

A ear splitting shriek came from Sally Donovan as she leapt out of her seat. "What the buggery fuck, Sal?" Lestrade exclaimed as he came out of his office. His eyes widened. "Fuck!" he swore again.

Spiders. Huge, hairy ones, crawling in hordes out of Sally's open desk drawer. "Kill them!" the sergeant was shrieking, almost close to tears. "Kill them, kill them, KILL THEM!"

"Alright, everybody out of here - and someone call animal control! Or an exterminator!" Lestrade ordered.

Sally was embarrassed about the incident later on. "When I was little...I fell into a whole nest of spiders," she said, shaking at the memory. "They were crawling all over me...I haven't been able to even look at a spider since. It's silly, right?"

"It's not silly," said John consolingly. "You went through trauma, and it affected you. It could happen to anyone."

And it did.

* * *

The next victim was Molly.

She was working in the morgue late one night when she heard a creak. "Hello?" she called. But there was no answer.

Molly shrugged, hugging her lab coat around herself a little tighter. It was getting cold in here.

Suddenly someone grabbed her from behind. She whirled around - and screamed.

It was a man she knew was named Edmund Parker. She knew his name because he was the body she'd processed today. Molly screamed louder.

The reanimated corpse picked up Molly with superhuman strength and threw her onto a body tray. Molly's eyes widened as she realized what he was doing. "No, no!"

The corpse of Mr. Parker shoved the tray into the drawer and locked her inside. Molly panicked, screaming and crying, pounding on the walls and kicking the door with her feet. "Let me out! _Let me out!_ "

Molly could feel the small space constricting around her, and her breathing grew labored as the air disappeared. _It's all in your imagination_ , she told herself firmly. _It's all in your imagination. It's all in your - oh God, someone help me!_ She screamed some more.

Suddenly the drawer was wrenched open and she was in the light, cool air rushing over her body. She gasped hard, gulping down the precious oxygen. Then she began sobbing, shaking all over.

"Calm down, Molly, it's all over," said a soothing, deep baritone voice as Sherlock cautiously rubbed her shoulders. "You're okay. You're having a panic attack. But you're safe now."

Molly whimpered, looking up at the vampire. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Came to pick up my blood supply. It's Wednesday, remember?" said Sherlock.

"Oh. Y-y-yeah," said Molly.

"Anyway, it's a good thing I came in. That _thing_ -" Sherlock pointed to the re-dead body of Mr. Parker on the floor. He had broken the zombie's neck. "-was stumbling about. I could hear your screaming and your heart beating. You sounded like you were about to go into cardiac arrest."

"I-...I-..." Molly took another deep breath. "I don't like small spaces."

"Claustrophobia?" Sherlock asked.

Molly silently nodded. "I went to a girl's school. Miss Norton's. She would lock us in a cupboard when we were naughty. Once she left me in there for six hours straight. I've been freaked out by cramped spaces ever since."

"I'm so terribly sorry," said Sherlock softly. Molly nodded miserably, wringing her hands.

Sherlock looked at the body again. "That man was already dead," said Sherlock curiously. "For roughly 18 hours, I'd estimate, by the progression of rigor mortis."

Molly gulped. "It's my nightmare," she whispered.

"What?"

Molly laughed, high pitched and off. "It's silly, I know. But I always have this eerie feeling that the bodies aren't quite...dead. Especially now, with all John's Slayer stuff we're involved in. I have this reoccurring nightmare that I'll be working late, no one around, and one of the bodies will come back to life and lock me in. Like I deserved to be punished for messing with them. Like I should go through what they go through." She looked up at Sherlock again. "Stupid, huh?"

"Not at all," Sherlock replied. "But it's all over now."

Molly looked at Mr. Parker apprehensively. "How did he come back to life?" she asked quietly.

Sherlock shook his head. "I don't know...I don't like not knowing."

* * *

Over the next few days, people were confronted with a physical manifestation of their worst fears. Public nudity, snakes, heights, performing in front of other people. Finally, one day, when Anderson went into the men's room to find that it had converted into a Jurassic jungle world, complete with a bloodthirsty tyrannosaur, the gang had to admit that something supernatural was going on.

Anderson looked at the Watcher. "Is this voodoo?" he asked.

"I dunno," said Lestrade worryingly, rubbing his chin. "Maybe there's a poltergeist at play here."

They were distracted as a scream ripped through the corridor outside. Constable Bradstreet was tearing by, attempting to evade a slew of bats trying to nest in her fluffy blonde hair.

"I'll call animal control. Again," groaned Sally, picking up the phone and dialing. She added under her breath, "At least it's not the bloody spiders."

John was paying attention to Bradstreet, about to go over and untangle the bats from her hair, when he was distracted by a little boy standing at the other end of the hallway, watching them. He was pale, had shaggy brunette curls, and was wearing a hospital gown and bracelet. A bandage was wrapped around his wrist.

"Sorry about that," he said quietly, before walking away.

John raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

* * *

Lestrade and Molly hit the books hard, but no one had ever recorded a demon or spell that made people's worst phobias come to life. "What do you think it is?" John asked Sherlock one night as they were out on their nightly hunt together. The night was fairly quiet.

"I have no idea," said Sherlock, his hands clasped behind his back. John knew he was in Deep Contemplation. "This phenomena is unlike any I've ever seen - and I've seen quite a bit."

"I saw some kid hanging around the office when this one constable was being accosted by some bats," John mentioned. "He looked...out of place. He was all sickly, and he was wearing a hospital gown."

"Hmm...how odd," Sherlock murmured.

John exhaled, turning a corner. "It's just so scary to think about. That you can just be minding your own business, when all of a sudden, there's your worst nightmare, right in front of you, real and actually happening. You know?...Sherlock?"

Sherlock had disappeared.

"Complete dickhead," muttered John. Suddenly, a loud groan in the distance distracted him. Baring his stake, John took off.

John ran toward the noise, till he reached a tall, thick wall of shrubbery. He pushed through it. When he came through on the other side, his eyes instinctively squinted shut. It was suddenly daytime, and he had emerged in bright sunlight. _What the hell? Did I fall asleep? No, I couldn't have...wait. Sherlock! Oh no, what if he's-_

"SHERLOCK!" John yelled, looking around. Not only was it day, but he was no longer even in the cemetery. He was in a vast, dry, arid desert scene. "SHERLOCK!" John screamed again. _Well this is bloody stupid_ , he berated himself. _If he's a pile of ash, he can't very well answer me, can he?_ John prayed desperately that this wasn't the case.

Suddenly...a curious feeling of deja vu came over John. He'd been here before...many times... John swallowed and looked around. "No," he whispered.

"Get down!" shouted a voice, and John was thrown to the sandy ground as an explosion went off. His ears wrung with the sound of gunfire.

He was back in Afghanistan. "God, no," begged John, trembling.

"On your feet, soldier!" an officer commanded him, shoving a gun into his arms. John looked down to see that his jumper and jeans had transformed into army fatigues. His stake had disappeared. A battalion around him were running toward an enemy wave, and John had no choice but follow them.

Bullets flew and whistled by him. His fellow troops were falling left and right. John felt useless. _I can't save them, I can't do anything!_ he thought in fearful frustration. 

Suddenly, there was a searing pain in his chest. John looked down again to see that there was a bullet lodged in his heart, and the front of his shirt was soaked in blood - his own blood. As the scenery melted back into the graveyard at night, John's eyes rolled back in his head and he fell backward into an open grave behind him. The lid of his coffin fell shut. The earth around the plot caved in and buried the casket.

There was a marker at the head of the plot, reading: " **Here lies Sergeant John H. Watson. He couldn't do anything more.** "

* * *

"John!" Sherlock cried, jogging through the aisles of graves. "Johhhhhn!"

Then Sherlock froze. "No," he whispered.

A freshly dug grave. _John's_ grave.

Sherlock sank to his knees. "No, this isn't possible," he declared, voice wobbling a bit. "This is magic. Or devilry." He pulled out his mobile and texted Lestrade. _Cemetery. Now. URGENT._ _-SH_

The Watcher, and Molly, arrived ten minutes later, coming from NSY where they had been burning the midnight oil investigating the possible cause of the nightmare curse. "What is it?" said Lestrade. Then he spotted John's plot and stopped short. "Oh my God..."

Molly too stared, wide eyed in shock. "John...no..." she whimpered.

"It can't be real," Sherlock said, pushing down any panic he felt at the idea of losing his boyfriend. "I saw him not twenty minutes ago. This is the spell, or whatever it is."

"Lestrade," said Molly, pointing. "John's isn't the only one."

On either side of John's grave, there were two open plots, marked "Molly Hooper" and "Sophie Carmen Bovary".

Molly looked at her own grave in horror. "Whose nightmare is this?" she asked.

Lestrade swallowed hard. "It's mine," he said. "I'm afraid that I won't be able to keep my loved ones safe."

Sherlock was staring at John's plot. "But Molly and Sophie's graves are empty. John's is filled...w-why is that?"

His question was answered by the topsoil shifting. A hand stuck out of the ground, and they all gasped, taking a step back.

A dirt-covered John crawled his way out of the plot. "It happened," he said, looking up at his friends. "The nightmare thingy. It happened to me. I got separated from Sherlock, and-and suddenly it was daytime. And I was back in the war. All my mates were dying and I couldn't do anything to help them. That's my nightmare. I still wake up at nights, scared to death because of it. Then I got shot and fell in there and..." He trailed off, realizing his friends were staring at him, aghast. "Wh-what? What's wrong?"

"John, y-your face," Molly said softly.

John froze. He slowly brought his hands to his face and cautiously touched his skin. It felt wrinkled and gnarled...hard...cool to the touch. His teeth had morphed into fangs. "Oh God, I'm a..." John couldn't even say it.

"You're like me," Sherlock finished for him.

John swallowed. "We need to figure out what's going on. _Fast_. The sun's going to be up soon. And..." He gulped. "I'm getting hungry."

* * *

John told Lestrade about the child he'd seen. "Huh. Sounds like Archie Scott," said Lestrade, rubbing his chin.

"Archie Scott?" said John.

"Yeah," said Lestrade. "His body was found in an abandoned warehouse. He's in the hospital now - in a coma."

Sherlock snapped his fingers. "Astral projection."

Lestrade's eyebrows shot up. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Astral projecting? Like an out-of-body experience?" said Molly.

"A bit. But it comes with some oomph," Lestrade explained. "It's obviously giving him some psychic superpower, the power to bring all our nightmares to life."

"The boy probably has some level of psychic ability - children often do - and it's being channeled into these attacks, the physical manifestation of all our fears. It's a cry for help," Sherlock explained.

"The poor child," said Molly, shuddering. "He must be scared to death over something."

"Yes," said a voice, and the four of them looked up. Little Archie was standing in the doorway of Lestrade's office, staring at them all. "Help me?" he begged.

John came over. The boy flinched away from him fearfully. "Oh, right. The face. Don't worry about that," said John, smiling sheepishly, trying his best to hide his fangs. "I'm actually really nice, deep down...Archie. Can you tell us why you're doing all this?"

"I didn't mean to," said Archie. "It was an accident. I-I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"The candy man."

"The candy man?" John repeated, lifting his eyebrow.

"His body was found with some candy wrappers," Lestrade piped up.

Archie nodded. "It was chocolate. But it made me see things. Scary things. Then I couldn't wake up."

John looked at his bandaged wrist. "What happened here?"

Archie looked at his wound. "I don't remember. Please, can you help me?"

"Archie..." said John comfortingly. "We will find the candy man. But you have to wake up."

"No," Archie said, shaking his head. "He'll hurt me again."

"Archie, I know you're scared. But we're depending on you," said John. "The nightmares won't stop until you wake up from yours. I can't stay like this." He gestured to his face. "Please, Archie. Help us help you."

Archie's eyes scrunched up in fear. He nodded. Then he clenched his eyes shut and disappeared.

John exhaled in relief. He stood up. "Okay. Molly, you go to the hospital and watch over Archie. Lestrade, are those candy wrappers still on file in evidence?"

"Yes."

"Good. Bring them out. We'll figure out what they were laced with."

Ten minutes later, Lestrade was opening the evidence baggie. Sherlock took it from him and sniffed. His eyes widened. "I haven't come into contact with this in some time..."

"What is it?" John said. "Shrooms? LSD?"

"Oh, it's a hallucinogen to be certain," Sherlock said. "But probably one you don't know of." Sherlock looked at Lestrade. "Inspector...have you ever heard of a drug called 'Devil's Foot'?"

"No, I haven't," said Lestrade, shaking his head.

"Understandable," said Sherlock. "It's very rare, damn near nonexistent now. I've only known of one person who used the drug - a vampire back in the day named Mortimer Tregennis, who was an cocaine addict before he was turned. Tregennis enjoyed drugging his victims with Devil's Foot before feeding from them. It would sedate the victim and gave Tregennis a euphoric rush at the same time. But the drug makes one have vivid hallucinations - their worst terrors, and deep dark secrets and desires, things one tries desperately to bury."

"Archie's wrist," said John. "It was bandaged. You think Tregennis was keeping the lad doped up to use as a feed bag?"

"I wouldn't put it past him," said Sherlock, scowling. "Tregennis was one particularly fouled up individual. He could have been a potentially very antagonistic vampire had he not been so focused on his own pleasure."

John's jaw was set as he pulled his stake out of his inner jacket pocket. "Where did you say the kid was found?"

* * *

"Hello, Morty."

The vampire turned around in surprise. He had been busy grinding up some Devil's Foot to be ready to give to his next victim. "Sh-Sherlock?" he stammered. "Sherlock Holmes? Good God, is that really you? Hey, is it true you got a soul-?"

"Enough talk," sneered Sherlock, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. "You've been feeding on kids now? You were always particularly despicable, but _children_ , really? Little Archie Scott, ringing a bell? Who else's young have you been dosing and drinking from?"

"Ey, come on, mate," Tregennis laughed nervously. "You know the small ones are sweeter. And I didn't kill none o' em, honest!...well, 'kay, maybe a few. But that was just at the beginnin'! They don't mind so much, once they've had their sweeties-"

"You sicken me," Sherlock hissed in his face, before shoving him backward onto John's waiting stake. Tregennis exploded into dust.

John smirked and put his stake away. "Good riddance," he muttered.

"John, your face," said Sherlock, his eyes lighting up. "You're human again."

John touched his face to find it smooth once more, his teeth square instead of pointy, and grinned delightedly. "Archie must be awake. Let's go to the hospital and tell him the good news."

* * *

John and Sherlock entered to find Molly sitting with an awake Archie and a very relieved looking woman - probably his mother. "Oh, John, your face!" said Molly happily. "It's back to normal!"

"Yep," said John. "Back to being as unbearably handsome as ever." He winked at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes and blushed.

"John! John! Look at my cool scar!" Archie held up his wrist. The bandage had been taken off, to reveal what was obviously a vampire bite mark.

"Oh, that's cool, buddy!" said John, going over to him. "I've got a scar too, on my shoulder."

"Can I see it?" Archie asked.

"Maybe some other time," said John.

"Awwwww," Archie sighed disappointedly.

"Where did he get it from? The scar?" asked Mrs. Scott. "It looks like he's been bitten by something."

"I hear giant snakes are a popular theory," muttered John, drawing a snort from Molly.

Mrs. Scott paled. "Snakes?" she asked fearfully.

"I'm sure your son has come to no long term harm," said Sherlock consolingly. "If there had been any trace of poison, it's gone from Archie's system by now. Your boy is as good as new." 

"Is the candy man gone?" said little Archie.

"All taken care of," said John confidently. "Let this be a lesson for you. Less chocolate, more vegetables."

"But I don't like vegetables," Archie whined. Everyone laughed.

Archie's mother stood up. "I don't know what you did for my son, but he said you helped him be brave," she said, shaking John's hand. "Whatever you did to bring my little boy back to me - thank you."

"All in a night's work," said John, smiling.

* * *

"Oh, come on, you _have_ to tell me."

"Nope."

"Tell what the H stands for. _Please_." Sherlock asked. "And you know I don't say please very often, this is a big deal."

John grinned. "Guess."

"I never guess," Sherlock replied.

"Fine. Then _deduce_ it."

Sherlock sighed. "Err...Henry?"

"Nope," John chuckled.

"Harold?"

"Nope!"

"Higgins? _Humphrey_?"

John laughed. "You're never gonna guess it. Might as well give it up."

"I am _not_ guessing! I am merely going by process of elimination."

"So, guessing."

"I hate you," Sherlock grumbled, playfully pushing him.

"No you don't," said John smugly, dragging him down for a kiss. Sherlock kissed him back, but he pretended not to like it. John chuckled, as they continued down the street together toward John's place. Then something occurred to him. "So why did I turn into a vampire?" the Slayer asked. "That's not a nightmare of mine."

"No," Sherlock admitted. "It's not - it's mine."

John looked at him funny. "You're afraid of me going vamp? Why?"

"Because you wouldn't be  _you_ ," Sherlock replied. "When you change, you lose your soul, and a demon takes you over. You lose your humanity...all that's left is a monster."

John swallowed. "You're not like that," he pointed out.

"I'm cursed," Sherlock laughed hollowly.

"But maybe I could be good, like you are," said John. "Can't there be a good demon?"

"Look, John," said Sherlock, licking his lips nervously. "It's not just concern for you either. It's a bit of a selfish fear as well. You see, back when you had just found out what I really was, when you saw me with Harry, Victor came to see me..."

_"He's hunting you right now."_

_"Go away," Sherlock mumbled flatly, staring pensively into his dormant fireplace._

_"What did you think, sweet boy?" snickered Victor, trailing his fingers along the back of Sherlock's chair. "Did you think he would understand?" he asked mockingly. "That he would look into your face...your real face...and give you a kiss? For a hundred years you've not had a moment's peace because you will not accept who you are. That's all you have to do. Accept it. Don't let him hunt you down. Don't whimper and mewl like a mangy human. Kill. Feed. Live!"_

_With a ferocious growl, Sherlock leapt from his chair, lunged at Victor, and pinned him against the wall by his wrists. "Fine!" he exclaimed, snarling._

_"What do you want?" panted Victor._

_"I want it finished!" Sherlock snapped._

_"That's good...you're hurting me," said Victor. He slowly smirked. "That's good too."_

"John, being a vampire...it _changes_ you," Sherlock stressed. "What if...you didn't...care for me anymore?"

"That's nonsense," said John, grabbing his wrist. "When am I ever not going to care for you?" He licked his lips. "I'm not saying this is what I want, but...what if...I _was_ a vampire? I'd never age, maybe live forever...just like you. We'd...be together. Always. I mean...would you not want that?"

“This isn't a fairy tale, John,” Sherlock insisted. “When you kiss me, you don't break the curse on me and turn me back into a prince. We don't live happily ever after.”

“No,” said John tersely. “No, when I kiss you, I wanna die.”

Swallowing hard, he dropped Sherlock's wrist, turned, and walked away, leaving the vampire alone in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made John a sergeant because he probably wouldn't reach Captain-hood at the age of 22. I hated to do it - John is just so...Captain-ly. Anyway, the laced chocolates were from "The Reichenbach Fall" and Devil's Foot and Mortimer Tregennis were from Arthur Conan Doyle's canon. Archie is from "The Sign Of Three" :)
> 
> So yeah, that's "Nightmares". Next is "Lie To Me"...and one of John's old flames comes back to town. ;)


	24. Faces From The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, I'm American and I know nothing about the military.

A woman was walking home from working late one night. She turned down a side street when suddenly, she was accosted by another woman, pale white with long cascades of brunette locks and crystal blue eyes. She was wearing a long, flowing white gown. "Hello," said the woman in white. Her tone was dazed and slightly childlike. "I'm Irene. What's your name?"

"P-patricia," stammered the woman in confusion.

"Patricia," sighed Irene, advancing forward. "Such a pretty name for a pretty lady." Irene leaned forward and sniffed her neck. "Do you taste pretty too, Pretty Patricia?" she purred.

"Err, I don't know what's going on here, but I'm straight," Patricia stammered.

"Let her go, Irene."

Irene gasped in delight at the sight of Sherlock. “Billy,” she purred. She ran a blood red fingernail down the lapel of his jacket. “My big Billy goat gruff. _Baaaah_.” She giggled.

"Go. Now," Sherlock whispered intently to Patricia. Patricia swallowed and hurried away.

Irene turned to pout at Sherlock. "You let my little fishy go." 

“Hello, Irene,” said Sherlock, his voice perfectly neutral.

Irene toyed with one of his curls. “You left us all alone,” she gently accused. She trailed the edge of her fingernail down one of his cheekbones, just barely scraping the skin. “All alone to cross the bridge...” She tapped the end of his nose. Then she carefully traced his lips. “...so much grass on the other side. So green.”

“Irene, leave this town,” Sherlock ordered gently, yet his voice was firm. “I'm offering you a chance. Take Kate and leave.”

Irene gazed up at him with puppy dog eyes. “Or you'll hurt me?” she whispered.

Sherlock swallowed.

“You can't,” sighed Irene. “Not anymore.”

“Whether I like it or not, you're my responsibility,” said Sherlock. “I don't want it to come to violence.”

“The troll’s going to kill me, isn't he?” Irene cooed. “He'll kill me...and my Katie...just like he killed our dear Victor.”

“ _I_ killed Victor,” Sherlock said darkly.

Irene’s crystal blue eyes widened. “So it's true,” she breathed. “What Katie told me about you. You've given your heart to the Slayer.” She pressed her hand against his chest. “It reeks of him,” she murmured. She softly chuckled. “Poor dear...he has no idea what's in store.”

“Irene, this can't continue,” said Sherlock warningly. “This is going to end, one way or another.”

Irene stroked the side of his face. “Oh no, my pet,” she purred. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “ _This is only the beginning._ ”

John, from where he was watching, concealed in the shadows, swallowed hard and silently crept away.

* * *

"Hi, Molls," said John as he came into Lestrade's office where the coroner was working on the Watcher's new desktop. He sat down in the chair before Lestrade's desk and heaved a great sigh.

"Hey, John," Molly replied. "Say, I haven't seen you with Sherlock for a few days. You two are usually tied to each other's hip."

"Yeah, well..." John replied. "You might say we had a bit of a lovers' spat...I saw him with a _woman_ last night."

"Oh my God," gasped Molly. "What was she like?"

John sighed. "Vampire - _pretty_ ," he grumbled.

"Sorry," said Molly, giving him a sympathetic face. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Nah," said John, smiling ruefully, waving his hand. "I'm sure it's nothing. We'll get over this fight soon."

"Our biggest fight lasted three whole weeks," said a new voice. John looked up to see a tall, blonde man with light blue eyes and a shy smile standing in the doorway of the office. He had a patch of scarring on one side of his face. "Then we were back in each other's tents begging each other for forgiveness. Remember that, Watson?"

" _James?!_ " John gasped, a huge grin spreading as he rose to clap the man on the shoulder. "Good God, look at you! What are you doing here?"

"Honorable discharge," said James, indicating to his marred cheek. "'Bravery in the line of fire'. Received a medal and everything. I came home about a week ago. Thought police work was the field for me, now that I've been put out to pasture."

"Aw, you, obsolete, Lieutenant? Never in a million years," John smiled, squeezing his bicep.

Molly coughed politely.

"Oh, right! James, this is Molly Hooper, good friend of mine. Molls, this is Lieutenant James Sholto, formerly of her Majesty's Royal Armed Forces. My previous - I mean, ex commanding officer."

"That's not the only kind of 'ex' anything he is, apparently," Molly chuckled.

"Er, yeah," John laughed awkwardly, both him and James turning slightly pink. Then the Slayer looked up at James. "It's so good to see you again. Really, James."

"Thank you, Watson - John. You too. You're looking..." James bashfully studied John's modestly fit body. "Well."

"Yeah, well..." John pounded his chest confidently. "Can't let myself go, right?"

"Absolutely," agreed James, nodding curtly. "Well...just wanted to say hello. Hope to see you around." He turned around and walked away.

Once he was gone, Molly sighed. "John, you have got to tell me how you pick up all these gorgeous men!"

John smiled at her. "Step one: find a gay guy. Step two: be male."

Molly laughed. "No, seriously, John, how do you do it?"

"Look, Molls, finding a proper date - _not_ a computer demon - isn't actually hard for you. You're bloody gorgeous as hell, smart, interesting. You just need to assert yourself." John grinned. "Show 'em no fear."

"No fear," repeated Molly. "Okay."

At that moment, Lestrade entered. Molly stood up. "Hi, Greg," she said in a determined voice.

"Hi, Molly," said Lestrade cheerfully.

"Hi, Molly," said Sophie, equally amiably, coming in after the Watcher. "'Lo, John."

Molly visibly deflated, sitting back down. John gave her a sympathetic smile and a head tilt.

"So, how's the computer working out?" Sophie asked Lestrade.

"Oh, it's brilliant!" said Lestrade brightly. "It's really user friendly - even for the technically challenged like myself."

"Well, if you didn't have your nose stuck in those stuffy books all the time," Sophie teased, poking his arm playfully.

"Oi, maybe I just like books! There's nothing like feeling the paper rustle underneath your fingertips," Lestrade shot back.

"I like books," Molly added feebly.

The Watcher and the IT woman looked her in surprise, as if they'd forgotten they had an audience.

John cleared his throat. "Lestrade, I just came by to tell you that there's nothing new on the staking front. We're still no closer to finding Kate."

"Maybe Sherlock could-"

"No," said John flatly. "Sherlock is...AWOL, at the moment. We can handle this on our own."


	25. Two For Two

"Here, vampy, vampy, vampy," John called quietly as he prowled the graveyard, stake in hard. But the area was still as a...graveyard.

John sighed.  _I miss Sherlock._

Then he heard a snap of a stick behind him. John whirled around, but the vampire that had just dug itself out of its grave caught him off guard. John was tackled to the ground.

"Well you're sneaky for a newborn, aren't you?" grunted John, struggling against the creature trying desperately to take a snap of his neck. "Hold on, got a birthday present for you-" John reached for his stake - but found it was not there. "Oh shit," John said.

The vampire hissed and was about to bite down, but suddenly he exploded into dust. John exhaled in relief. "Timing's as impeccable as ever, She-Sholto?" he said confusion.

James smiled, holding out John's stake. "You dropped this."

"Uh, James, listen," said John nervously, hopping to his feet. "What you saw - that guy-"

"John, it's alright," said James. "I know you're the Slayer."

John was quite surprised. "O-oh. Um...how?"

"Well, I was your commanding officer. When you were pulled from my platoon mysteriously, I snooped around."

"Careful, Lieutenant, I might think you were stalking me," said John, smirking as he cocked an eyebrow.

"John, if you'd allow it...I'd like to assist you in hunting."

John hesitated.  _But I usually go hunting with Sherlock..._

But Sherlock and him weren't speaking at the moment.

John swallowed. "Sure. Why not?" He grinned. "You and I, do or die. Just like the old days."

The two men headed off together, not knowing they were being watched from the shadows. Sherlock swallowed, turned, and silently crept away.

* * *

Molly opened her front door to find Sherlock standing there. "Oh! Sherlock. What...are you doing here?"

Sherlock bit his bottom lip. "Does John have a new...friend?"

"Huh? Oh, you must mean James! He's John's ex...commanding officer," Molly added. "He's really nice."

"I saw them hunting together," said Sherlock.

Molly smiled knowingly. "Do I detect a hint of jealousy?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Sherlock declared. Then after a moment, he said. "I just...have a bad feeling. Can you...do some research on him for me?"

Molly seemed reluctant. "I don't know about this. John's my friend, I'd feel like I was creeping around, investing his friend."

"Molly, something's very wrong here. He knew John was the Slayer."

"Well, maybe John told him," Molly reasoned.

"He didn't. The Watchers' Council keeps the Slayer's identity top secret. Something suspicious is going on. Molly, please," said Sherlock. "Will you help me?"

Molly hesitated. "Oh, alright. But John doesn't find about this." She turned away, leaving the door open for Sherlock.

The vampire coughed awkwardly, still in the doorway. "You have to invite me in."

 "Oh, right," Molly flushed. "Err...I, Molly Hooper, invite you, Sherlock Holmes, into my home."

"Thank you," said Sherlock, coming inside.

Molly pulled out her laptop. "I'll, err, look into the NSY's employee records. That might tell us something...and if Lestrade finds out about this, I will personally push you into a sun lamp." She squinted her eyes at him, trying to look intimidating.

Sherlock held up his hands. "What happens in Vegas..."

Molly began typing. "So...where did this bad feeling come from exactly?"

"Well, I saw them in the cemetery together. He wasn't at all surprised when he saw a vampire turn to dust. Doesn't that seem a little suspicious to you?"

Molly raised an eyebrow at him, barely concealing a smirk. "Were you spying on John?"

"No!" Sherlock said defensively. "Well...perhaps slightly. But I was only there to apologize for our argument. Then _he_ came along, bouncing around John like a puppy-"

"But you're not jealous or anything, right?" Molly said knowingly.

Sherlock crossed his arms. "Shut up," he grumbled.

"I understand," Molly sighed. "You like someone, a lot, you think they like you back, but suddenly there's some beautiful tall blonde person there, batting their eyelashes and bringing him coffee and stupid apple fritters and they're better with computers than you are and-"

"Are we still talking about John?" Sherlock asked.

Molly blushed. "Sorry...okay. Here he is...huh. That's odd."

"What?" Sherlock asked, leaning over her shoulder.

"Well, James said he'd been honorably discharged, but this says he was sent home for medical reasons." Molly looked at Sherlock questioningly. "Why would he lie?"

Sherlock's eyes grew. "I have to find John."

* * *

"I tracked some vampires to this house," said James, leading John inside the darkened manor. "I thought we could attack them when they're least expecting it."

"You've really done your research, haven't you?" said John, stepping over an overturned chair.

"The war never ends, Watson. Not really."

There was a noise as two she-vamps emerged from a dark hallway. "Katie," pouted the brunette one. "They're interrupting my beauty sleep."

"What are you humans doing here?" demanded Kate, stroking Irene's long dark locks. "We didn't order delivery." Then she caught sight of John. "Slayer! How nice of you to drop by! And you brought a friend. It's a double date!"

John clutched his stake. "James, run. These women are bad news."

"I'm here to answer your advertisement," said James. "Anything I want, for the Slayer. Alive."

John looked at James. "What?"

James couldn't look him in the eye. "I'm sorry, John. Truly I am." The lieutenant looked at Kate. "My reward?"

Kate sighed, bored. "Fine, what do you want? Money? Power?"

"Eternal life," said James. "Make me a vampire."

"You betrayed me to become a vampire?" John said, still in disbelief.

"I don't have a choice, John," said James. "I'm dying. Brain tumor. I only have six months. I need this."

John shook his head. "I'm sorry. I really am, James. But trust me, you don't want this. They will suck you dry and you will die. And then a demon takes up shop in your body. It looks like you, it walks and talks like you, it even remembers your life, but _it's not you_."

"I don't have a choice," James repeated.

"You have a choice!" John growled at him. "You don't have a good choice, but _you have a choice_."

"Yawn!" Kate exclaimed. "Can we get to the killing now?"

Irene giggled. "Rip the troll's throat out, Katie."

Kate shifted to vamp face and leered at John. John gulped.


	26. A Farewell To Arms

John drew his stake.

Kate snickered. "That's cute." She lunged at John.

Suddenly, a dark shape sideswiped her and tackled her to the ground. It was Sherlock.

The two of them grappled on the ground. "John, go!" Sherlock called over her shoulder.

"No way!" John said, running over to him. He grabbed him by the shoulder, pulled him to his feet, and clasped his hand tightly as they ran out into the night.

Kate growled in annoyance as she sat up. "Damn. I so wanted him. Well, the meat always tastes better when you've hunted it yourself anyway."

"Well, I-I delivered him," said James nervously. "We had a deal. You'll turn me, right?"

Kate sighed. "Irene...give the man his wish."

James was turned around by Irene, who grinned at him as she shifted into vamp face and attacked his neck. James cried out in pain.

* * *

John and Sherlock ran till the Slayer was panting hard. "Think they'll come after us?" he gasped.

"Eventually. But not tonight." Sherlock looked back over his shoulder.

John looked up at him from where he was doubled over on himself. "Thank you."

Sherlock nodded. "I'm sorry about your friend," he said softly.

John shrugged, though it was obvious he was pained. "I guess he wasn't much of a friend after all."

* * *

 Two nights later, John and Sherlock were stationed at Sholto's grave. They were awaiting the newborn vampire to arise. The night was quiet as they waited.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded stiffly. "It's not him. Not anymore." He swallowed, and after a moment, said, "Would it have been better? For him to live as a vampire? Instead of just dying one day?"

"We all die someday. And being a vampire...it's not really living at all," Sherlock replied.

John sighed. "James Sholto was one of the best men I knew. A great officer. I looked up to him. He was a hero. I can't believe he just turned on me like that." John snapped his fingers.

Sherlock touched his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he said softly.

John exhaled through his nose and covered the vampire's hand with his own.

Suddenly, a hand broke through the sod. The soulless creature that was formerly James Sholto unearthed himself. His handsome face was contorted into that of a monster. He roared and stalked toward John.

John stabbed him in the heart, and the creature shattered into dust.

The Slayer and his fellow man were left standing there in the dark, the wind whistling around them eerily, not speaking.

“I...I was stupid,” John admitted, breaking the tense silence. “I don't want to live forever. Not like that. Even if it means spending forever with you. Sorry.”

“No, you're right,” Sherlock agreed. “No love affair is worth your soul.” Then he bit his bottom lip. “But to answer your question...yes. I would gladly spend eternity with you.”

John smiled ruefully. “Even if I get old and grey?” he joked.

Sherlock fingered an odd silver strand of John’s otherwise straw colored hair. “You've already gone a bit grey,  _ old man _ ,” he teased.

“Shut up!” laughed John, shoving him playfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story is "What's My Line". Where we get our "Kendra". :) Anyone wanna guess who that is? (Is anyone still reading this?)


	27. The Book Thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I took a little break, but I'm back now, with more frequent updates. :)
> 
> For this story, I drew from Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Musgrave Ritual". Also, Dr. Trevelyan is a character from "The Resident Patient".

Kate brought her fist down on the table. "Well, Doctor Trevelyan? You're supposed to be a smarty pants. Can you figure out how to cure my darling or not?"

"Brainy is the new sexy," sighed Irene from where she was lounging on the settee. The vampiresses had been forced to move after the affair with the Slayer and his traitorous ex-commander. Poor Irene was exhausted.

"Oh, I know, sweet darling, I know," Kate cooed, coming over and kissing her hand. Then she glared at Trevelyan. "Look at how my pet is suffering. Are you just going to sit there like an idiot, or help my girl get her strength back?"

The vampire doctor shakingly adjusted his spectacles and stammered, "M-m-madam, I've already told you, I cannot decode the spellbook unless I have a key, the Codex, to translate the runes-"

Kate roared and tossed a chair across the room. It shattered into splinters. Irene whimpered and curled into herself.

"Oh, I'm sorry, love," Kate soothed, running her long, blood red nails through Irene's dark locks. "Seeing you so frail...not up to your old strength...just makes Katie so upset. Forgive me?"

Irene peeked out from behind her fingers. "I know why you're really upset...it's the nasty Slayer, isn't it?"

Kate growled. "Yes, that Slayer. Damn him. We'll never make you well again with his meddling - him and his pitiful love slave."

"I want you to kill him, Katie," Irene whined. "Pretty please?"

Kate sighed. "I would love nothing more than to snap that stubby neck of his. But right now, I'm concerned for you. I don't need any distractions right now." Then she grinned and snapped her fingers. "I know. The Order of Coventry!"

Irene gasped. "Oh, yes!"

"The Order of Coventry, maam?" said Trevelyan nervously. "They're a bit... _radical_ , don't you think?"

"You haven't met this Slayer," said Kate. "He's got help. One of us, one of our strongest, on his side. Together, they're quite...bothersome. But not unbeatable. The Order will at least keep them occupied while we locate the pieces we need and perform the spell. And when did I ask for  _your_ opinion? Stick to your books and let me handle the important decisions."

"Um, my lady?"

Kate sighed. "What."

Trevelyan smiled cautiously. "I believe I know where we can find the codex."

Kate slowly smiled. "Good. Then go get it."

* * *

John was on patrol at the cemetery as usual, but without Sherlock, for once. They'd made up after the whole disasterous Sholto affair, and now John was starting to feel those warm embers of romance inside him building strength again, only more intensely...hotter...

John gulped and gripped his stake tighter.

A rustle snapped John out of his stupor, and he stood up from the headstone he was leaning on to investigate.

John spied a bespectacled vampire coming out of a mausoleum, clutching a book. "Hey!" he shouted.

The nerdy vamp jumped and began running.

"Get back here!" John shouted. He gave chase to the vamp, but it got away. "Damn," grumbled the Slayer.

When John returned to his bedsit, he was surprised to find his boyfriend waiting in his room. "Hey, where the hell were you? I could've used your help," said John, unloading his bag.

"Sorry, was busy," mumbled Sherlock. He was laid out on John's cot, flat as a board, hands folded in prayer formation.

"Busy what? Testing the comfortableness of my bed?"

"I'm not entirely sure that's a word. And no, I was out trying to get information on what Kate and Irene are up to. Trying and failing. My connections to the underworld are too afraid of our jolly neighborhood femme fatales to reveal anything."

"Maybe they're not up to anything," John suggested, easing off his combat boots.

"I highly doubt that," snorted Sherlock. He sighed. "I suppose we'll know soon enough."

"Um, Sherlock? Do vampires normally make a habit of grave robbing?" John went into the bathroom to prepare for bed.

"Grave robbing? No, not particularly. Well, unless they were awakening a newborn."

John spit toothpaste into the sink. "I doubt it. This was one of the oldest graves in the yard. He had a book with him. Old, leatherbound. Figured he'd stolen it. He got away before I could catch him."

"Interesting. Might be worth looking into. Talk to your Watcher about it in the morning."

John flipped off the light in his bathroom, came over to his bed, and made Sherlock budge over. He exhaled contentedly as he settled into Sherlock's long, spindly arms. He dropped a kiss in his messy curls. "Why is it always killing and impending doom that brings us together? All work and no play makes Johnny a dull, tired boy, you know."

"Hardly dull," said Sherlock, kissing his neck briefly. "As for tired, I'd have to agree. There'll be time for...playing later. Go to sleep, John. I'll see you tomorrow."

"It is t'm'row," John mumbled drowsely, already dropping off.

Sherlock chuckled warmly. "Later today then."

John would've said something back, but he was already asleep.


	28. Rendezvous

John was alone when he awoke several hours later. However, Sherlock had texted him:  _See you tonight. -SH_

Sherlock didn't have to sign with the hugs and kisses or winky face for John to know he was being flirted with. With a smile, he replied:  _Not if I see you first. -JW_

Lestrade was tearing up his bookshelves when John arrived. "Whoa, what's going on?" the Slayer asked.

"One of my books has been stolen!" said Lestrade in frustration.

"Maybe you should report it to the police," John quipped.

Lestrade glared at him. "You won't find it so funny if it falls into the wrong hands. It's a very old, archaic spellbook. There's a lot of dangerous spells in it. This could be seriously disasterous."

"Hang on," said John. "Last night on patrol, I caught this geekpire stealing an old book from a mausoleum in the cemetery."

"Well unless the creatures of the night are putting together their own lending library, I'd say someone's up to something. And whatever it is, it can't be good."

"What do we do?"

"Take me to this mausoleum," said Lestrade, grabbing his jacket. "Time to go sleuthing."

* * *

"Sir Reginald Musgrave," Lestrade read on the tomb. "He died a hundred and fifty years ago. What could they be digging up of his now?"

"Well, maybe we should do some reading up on him," said John. "See what he was into. There's bound to be stuff on record about him."

"Yeah. That'll be my job. You and Sherlock bring the legwork, okay?"

"Sir, yes sir." John mock-saluted. "I gotta get to work. I'm on thin ice with Sarah as it is after Kate and her fang gang crashed her party."

"Yeah, alright. Bye, John," said Lestrade, still looking over the gravesite. He saw something, a design, engraved into the stone, and bent down to take a picture of it. It looked familiar, for some reason...

* * *

John opened his door to go out and slay, but he was surprised to find Sherlock there. "Hey. Ready to go hunting?"

"Um, not just yet," said Sherlock, adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket nervously as John let him in.

"Okay. Something's on your mind. What's up?" John asked. "Did you find something out about Kate?"

"What? Oh, no, it has nothing to do with that. It's just, um...do you remember that night we went out together? Well, I was thinking...we should do it again. Tomorrow night, in fact."

John looked at him questioningly. "What brought this on?"

"Well, I was thinking about what you said, about how all we ever do together is hunt and work and..." Sherlock looked up at him. "I want to have fun. With you. I clearly don't have much on my own."

John smiled. "I think it's a great idea. I'd love to go out with you again. What should we do?"

Sherlock smiled. "I have an idea. But I want it to be a surprise."

"But how will I know what to wear?"

"Oh. Well, wear whatever you want."

John laughed. "Well, gotta be lookin' good for my _man_ , you know."

"I'm your-?" Sherlock  _blushed_. He pretended to scoff. "Don't be ridiculous, John."

John laughed and tenderly kissed him. "You are the cutest thing," he murmured.

"I'm over 140 years old, John," said Sherlock, trying to scowl, but his cheeks were flushing even harder.

"Mm. Still adorable," said John huskily, and he kissed him again.

Sherlock kissed him back, and time seemed to stop. Sherlock's mouth was unusually warm, pliant against his, and sweet to the taste. The kiss was soft and slow, but also passionate, and it took John's breath away. Even when it finally ended, their lips lingered.

John and Sherlock stared into each other's eyes, transfixed. John's breath came out in little puffs, and Sherlock was quivering.

_Fuck. I want him._

"Um...w-we need t-to-"

"Right," said John, jumping away from Sherlock as if he'd been burned. "Uh. Let's go."

* * *

The Order was beginning to arrive.

Neilson, the augmented U.S. Marine, was delivered by helicopter.

Archer, the crack marksman, rolled up into the city on a motercycle.

Meanwhile, a dark haired, dark eyed woman in a leather jacket was dropped off by taxi. She checked her phone and smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh! The sexual tension is mounting!!!!
> 
> So Neilson and Archer were on the team of American agents in "A Scandal In Belgravia". As for the girl newcomer, I'll leave that up to your imagination. *smirk*


	29. Rudely Interrupted

Molly was just coming out of the morgue when she walked right into an intern carried a huge stack of files. Papers went flying everywhere. "Oh God, I'm so sorry!" Molly said, scurrying to help him pick them up.

"No, no. It's my fault," said the intern. He had reddish curls and a long sad face. "I'm such a jinx. God, it's gonna take forever to reorganize all these."

"Well, I can help you if you like. It's my lunch hour anyway," said Molly.

"Oh no, no, I couldn't take up your free time-"

"-no, really, I insist."

"Well...well, alright," said the intern, smiling shyly. "I'm Tom, by the way. Tom Chaney."

Molly smiled back. "Molly Hooper."

* * *

John's taxi let him out at the address Sherlock had texted him. He paid the cabbie and nervously adjusted his coat. His stomach was doing gymnastics.

John found a note taped to the doorknob. _Please come up._ John smiled, a little giddy, and went inside.

John's shoes stepped in something soft. John raised an eyebrow and looked down.

Rose petals. A trail of them, leading up the stairs.

"He really went all out, huh?" John muttered.

The petals led him to a door at the top of the staircase. John cautiously opened it. "Wow..." he breathed as he came in.

The vacant studio, overlooking the city, was softly illuminated with gold-white fairy lights. The floor was scattered in more rose petals, and a CD player emitting gentle music was sitting on a small table off to the side, along with a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

"Not good?" Sherlock said behind him.

John, grinning, turned around and kissed him. "No. Very good. I-I hardly know what to say. Except that it's...perfect."

Sherlock smiled, relieved, and kissed him back. "You look very handsome," he remarked.

John blushed down at his red v-neck sweater over his white plaid dress shirt and dress khakis. He had topped it off with a light brown corduroy coat with patches at the elbows that made him feel like a stodgy old English Lit professor; made him want to grow a scruffy beard and take up smoking a pipe. "Well, had to doll a bit, didn't I? When you always look so..." John sighed. "Totally gorgeous."

Sherlock, wearing one of his flawless suits, but pairing it with a dark plum colored shirt that made him look utterly _edible_ , smiled shyly. God, he really was adorable.

John cleared his throat. "So, what is this place, anyway? Is this where you live?"

"Oh, God no," said Sherlock flippantly. "This place is currently on the market. But I convinced the realtor to let me use it for the night. Owed me a favor."

"What business could you have in real estate?" John said.

"Oh, I don't. The realtor's a demon."

"Aren't they all?"

Sherlock snorted. "Oh, and, I got takeaway from your favorite sushi place. Frankly, I don't know how one stands to eat cold white rice, seaweed, and raw fish, but luckily for me, I'll never have that problem," he said, pulling out a plastic bag. "I'm on a strictly liquid diet." Sherlock smiled ruefully.

John shook his head. "So apart from eating sushi, what did you have planned for us to do?" He waggled his eyebrows mischievously.

"Well, I...I thought we could dance."

"Oh! Er..."

Sherlock shook his head slightly. "What's wrong?"

"Well, it's just that I...can't dance," said John.

Sherlock smiled. "That's alright. I can help you there."

He came over to John and held him close, then John felt Sherlock's shoes slip underneath his. He was standing on Sherlock's feet, like a father dancing with his daughter.

John laughed shyly as Sherlock began to move them to the music. "If anyone hears about this, I'll never hear the end of it."

"Your secret's safe with me," Sherlock chuckled, pulling him closer. The slight lift brought John closer to being level with Sherlock's luscious lips, and he craned up to kiss him.

But as usual, they just couldn't have nice things.

Neilson burst through the door, muscles bulging. He threw himself at John, tackling him to the petal strewn floor.

"Oh my God!" Sherlock jumped on the attacker, who had his hands around John's throat, strangling him. Neilson tossed him aside, but it distracted him long enough for John to get him off of him. John punched him in the face several times. Neilson growled and picked John up by the waist, throwing him into the table. The radio and the glassware smashed into pieces, red wine like blood pooling on the floor.

Sherlock jumped on Neilson's back, vamp face activated, but Neilson slung him over and stalked toward the Slayer. John rolled out of the way as the hitman brought his fist down on him, but instead, electricity from the remains of the radio was conducted through the spilled liquid and electrocuted him. Neilson, with a groan, fell over in a dead faint.

John shakily got to his feet. His nice sport coat was torn now. "What the _hell_ was that?"

"Hmm. Human, as far I as can tell. But more machine than flesh. Like that fellow in black from those Star Trek films."

"You mean, Darth Vadar? From Star _Wars_?"

"Whatever."

"Oh my God, you're hurt!" said John, hurrying over to inspect the cut on his forehead.

"It's nothing," said Sherlock, shying away from him.

"It's not nothing, let me see-"

“Stop that,” Sherlock growled, flinching away from John's hands.

“Oh, quit being a baby. I don’t think you’ll need stitches but you might could use some butterflies - I'm not hurting you, am I?”

“No, it's just...” Sherlock turned his yellow eyes downward, slightly ashamed. “You shouldn't have to touch me in this state.”

“What state?” John said. Then he realized: Sherlock still had vamp face. “Oh...” He carefully traced one of the vampire’s pronounced cheekbones with his fingertips. John smiled shyly. “I didn't even notice,” he admitted.

Sherlock's vampire form was truly hideous. His eyes were harsh and animalistic. His nose was squashed upward like a bat’s. His forehead and eyebrows were contorted at an angle that made it appear as if he were a permanently scowling Neanderthal. His lips were curled back unpleasantly to accommodate his protruding fangs. All traces of the angelic softness his face normally carried were replaced by cold, hard lines. But somehow, John wasn't bothered. Maybe it was because he'd seen so many vampires that he was desensitized, or maybe because he knew it was still his friend underneath it, but John didn't care. In fact, he still found Sherlock kind of beautiful.

Being wary of the sharp teeth, John carefully raised himself up, brushing his nose against the vampire’s, and softly kissed his top lip. Then he kissed the bottom one. Sherlock managed to purse his lips enough to be able to properly kiss John back. They stayed there for a minute, sharing soft, light kisses, then slowly pulled apart in one last, lingering kiss. When John opened his eyes, he saw that Sherlock had shifted back to his human face.

John smiled. “Well, look at that,” he remarked, recalling their first kiss, when quite the opposite had happened. _Look how far we've come._

Sherlock smiled back, no doubt thinking of it too.

Little did they know they were being watched...


	30. Targets

"Oh, shit," said Lestrade, inspecting the talisman John and Sherlock had pulled off their attacker. "The Order of Coventry. This is bad news."

Sherlock swore. "Kate. This is her doing, no doubt."

"What's the Order of Coventry?" John said.

"Bit like the Three. Supernatural assassins. Kate's gotten tired of your meddling in her affairs and taken out a hit on you."

John sighed. "Oh good. My life was getting kinda boring for a second there. Another killer cult wanting me dead was just what I needed."

"The bionic man was the first of three attackers. We'll have to be extremely cautious these next few days, John," said Sherlock.

"Well, at least I'll have my big strong man here to protect me," John joked, nudging his boyfriend.

"There's more," said Lestrade.

"What's up, buttercup?"

"Reginald Musgrave. I had thought I recognized the name. Then I looked into the sigil on his tomb. It was the same marking that was on the book that was stolen from me."

"So they are linked then. Musgrave, the nerdpire, and the two books," John reasoned.

"Well, as it turns out, Musgrave and his ancestors were the guardians of the book. His great-great-great-great...however many greats grandfather wrote it. He was a warlock supreme. But he wrote it in an ancient language only he knew; even the Watchers' Council doesn't have a translation of it. The only known codex was rumored to be buried with the last of the wizard's line."

"Sir Reginald," John said.

"And now, your 'nerdpire' has both books. I shudder to think what for."

"Kate hiring the Order and this incident happening at the same time can't be a coincidence," said Sherlock. "Kate's up to something. Bad. We must put a stop to it, at all costs."

* * *

"My lady," said Trevelyan, adjusting his glasses as he approached the vampiress. "We have nearly all the pieces we need to perform the spell. We just need the final ingredient."

"Which we'll have soon enough," smirked Kate, standing at the side of Irene's sick bed. "In 24 hours' time, we'll have all we need to bring our resident patient back to her former glory."

Irene, fast asleep, softly whimpered and twitched. Kate shushed her and stroked her hair and face. "Just hold on a bit longer, my love." Kate smiled. "When you arise once more, this world will be ours for the taking."

* * *

"And you're sure you've Seen nothing, Wiggins?" said Sherlock into the payphone.

"Cross my hearts and hope to die, Shezza," said Billy on the other end.

Sherlock sighed. "Well, thank you anyway. Keep in touch." He hung up the phone and began to exit the booth, but suddenly, a dark shape slammed the door and locked it. Sherlock jiggled the door, but it held fast. "Hey!" He slapped his palms on the glass. "Let me out! Help!"

The mystery dark haired woman stepped out of the shadows, chuckling. "Silly vampire. Shouldn't be out this close to sunrise, you know," she taunted in an Irish accent.

Sherlock rattled the door. "Let me out," he growled.

"I don't think so, cheekbones. You're gonna stay right where I put you. And I'm gonna go after your pretty little boyfriend."

She must be with the Order. Sherlock snarled menacingly. "Touch him and I'll kill you."

"You're welcome to try. But you better hurry. You have..." The woman checked her watch. "37 minutes before you're dust in the wind."

She chuckled as she walked away. Sherlock slammed into the plexiglass, but it did no good.


	31. 37 Minutes

It was still dark when John was leaving his dreary bedsit for an early shift at the clinic. About half an hour before dawn.

He was humming softly to himself as he walked down the dim sidewalk, only illuminated by the streetlamps. Suddenly, as if sensing he was being watched, John tensed and stopped.

_Shit. No weapons, no Sherlock, no nothin'._

John whirled around as the figure leapt out at him from the bushes. A woman with dark hair and dark eyes in a leather jacket. She knocked him on his back. "Well, well, out for a walk?" she sneered.

John glared up at her. "I'm really not in the mood for this today."

"Too bad. I am." The woman pulled out a - wait, a wooden stake? - and made to jab him in the chest with it.

John rolled away and grabbed her ankles, yanking her to the ground. "I don't really want to punch a girl," he said.

"Oh, I don't mind. I'm of the state of mind that equal opportunity goes both ways." Suddenly, the woman's knee jabbed into John's crotch.

" _Ahhhhh_ ," John groaned, going boneless. The woman threw him off with superhuman strength. John's body landed several feet away.

The woman sprung to her feet, grabbed her stake from the ground, and stalked over to John once again.

"So what are you exactly," John grunted, struggling to sit up. "Demon?"

"As if," barked the woman with a laugh. "I'm Janine Hawkins. The Vampire Slayer."

John blinked. "Wait. What?"

"Now, it's time for to do my thing - killing dirty leeches like you."

"WAIT!" John shouted as she raised her stake. "You're trying to kill me...because you think I'm a vampire?"

"Well...yeah. Aren't you?" Janine blinked.

"NO!" John exclaimed. "I'm human, same as you! I thought you were from the Order of Coventry!"

"What's the Order of Coventry?" Janine said.

"It's...a long story," panted John.

Janine furled her eyebrow at him suspiciously. "Are you positively sure you're human?"

"Well, flash me a cross or splash me some holy water if you don't believe me!" John said.

"But that vampire you were kissin'...I just assumed you were one too."

"No," said John, slowly getting to his feet. "Listen, my name is John. John Watson. I-"

"What?" said Janine. Now it was her turn to be surprised. "John Watson...the Slayer?"

"S'my name, s'my game," John nodded.

"But you're...dead."

John shook his head. "Well, I'm not."

"But the Watchers' Council said you...I thought there could only be one at a time... _in every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer_. That's the rule."

"Or _he_ , thank you," said John.

"But...but you did die. My Watcher said so. Moriarty, drowning?"

"No, I..." John blinked. "Oh. I did die. Just for a minute or so. Then a half-demon guy gave me mouth to mouth-"

"You really have a thing for monsters, dontcha?" Janine chuckled. Then, slowly, her face fell. "Oh no."

John raised an eyebrow. "What, 'oh no'?"

Janine looked off to the eastern horizon, where the sun's first rays were just starting to poke over the edge. "That bloodsucker of yours - nice suit, puppy curls. Cheekbones that could cut glass?"

"You've very observant. Yes, why?"

"You like him a lot?" There was a frantic edge to Janine's voice.

"Yes, quite a bit. _Why_."

Janine grabbed his hand. "We need to go, right now."

"Go, go where?" John said as Janine dragged him down the street at top speed. "Janine!"

* * *

The sun was almost completely up when the two Slayers reached the phone booth where Janine had locked Sherlock up. It was empty, the door wide open.

John grabbed Janine by the front of her jacket. "Where is he, you stupid bitch?!"

"I don't know! Maybe he got out before the sun came up!"

"He better have! Or they'll be calling another new Slayer to replace you after I break your bloody neck!" John whipped out his cell phone to call Sherlock. _Please, please, please be alright!_

Janine was checking out the inside of the booth. "No ash. That's a good sign, right? Look, he probably broke out and went to find a shady spot-" But she was interrupted by a quiet ringing noise. She looked down by her feet.

A cell phone was lying there. Sherlock's cell phone.

Janine picked it up and held it up for John to see.

John hung up his phone and stared at the device in horror. _Oh, God. Where could he be?_


	32. A Tale Of Two Slayers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there's some torture in this chapter. And a little bit of vore (surprise, vampires drink blood).

"Blimey," said Lestrade, rubbing the back of his neck, walking in a circle around Janine and staring at her as if she was the Second Coming. John had brought her to his office to meet the Watcher. Sally and Anderson had joined them too, curious. "Two Slayers. How is this possible?"

"I guess when Moriarty drowned me a few weeks ago, it triggered the next Slayer," said John.

"You _were_ dead," Lestrade reasoned. "I guess it technically counts. There's nothing in the rules that says a Slayer has to _stay_ dead for another to be called."

"So, John's not the only Slayer?" said Sally.

"Not anymore apparently," said John.

"There's been a long line of Slayers, almost as long as there's been monsters. One girl gets chosen and gifted superpowers to fight the forces of evil. John's a bit different, seeing as he's the only male Slayer there's ever been," Lestrade explained.

"Who decides who gets to be the Slayer?" Anderson asked.

"No one, really. Fate? Destiny? The powers that be? It's all up to chance, really."

"The thing is," said John quietly, "...when one Slayer dies...like I did...the next one - that's Janine - is called. Until now, there's only ever been one at a time."

"Just...one person? To fight all those monsters?" said Sally, her voice softening as the tragic nature of John's role slowly dawned on her. "That sounds so...lonely."

John nodded. "It is. It _was_. I was lucky. I had Sherlock to fight with me. We're kind of...kindred spirits."

"Sherlock?" said Janine, piping up. "As in, Sherlock _Holmes_? The super sadistic vampire? I thought he died a hundred years ago."

"No, he just went under the radar," John said. "Look, I know you've probably heard awful things about what he's done, but he's different now. He...he's got a soul."

"A vampire with a soul?" said Janine incredulously.

"Nomad curse. The point is, he's good now. He's on our side. He helped me saved the world. So we need to get him back, wherever he's been taken." John clenched his fist. "Nobody kidnaps my boyfriend."

* * *

Sherlock was slowly coming to. He was lying shirtless on a comfy bed, and fingers were running through his hair. Sherlock sighed, smiling sleepily as he arched into the tender caress. "John..." he breathed.

"That's right, my love. Sweetly dream of your precious Slayer."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. Irene was hovering over him, leering. Sherlock yelped and tried to jerk away, but found that his wrists were bound above his head to the bed.

Irene laughed softly. "Because sweet dreams are all you'll have once I'm done with you. Just like they were all I had, once you were done with me."

Kate, snickering quietly, emerged from the shadows. "Go ahead, darling. Play with your new toy for a while. I want to watch." She handed Irene a glass bottle with a white cross on it. The evil women grinned at Sherlock, who squirmed in fear as Irene uncorked the holy water.

* * *

"I'm here," said Sophie, coming into Lestrade's office and taking off her coat. "What's going on?"

"A friend of ours is lost. We think he's been kidnapped," said Lestrade. "Can you help us?"

"Sure. It's just a matter of a simple locator spell," Sophie nodded. "I can whip one up in a jiffy if you have the ingredients I need."

"What do you need?"

"Um, a white candle, and some matches, obviously, uh, a sprig of heather, and some dried rose petals. Who are we trying to find?"

"John's _boyfriend_ ," said Anderson, somewhat jeeringly.

"Then we'll need red rose petals. And something that belongs to him."

"We have his phone," said John, holding up the mobile.

"That's perfect. We'll have your beau back in no time," said Sophie.

John exhaled, worried. "I sure hope so. I shutter to think what he's going through right now."

* * *

Sherlock cried out in agony as Irene let holy water drip down his bare chest, it leaving a red sear mark on his skin.

"Burn, burn, burn," Irene singsonged. "Let the water thy soul cleanse. Burn away your sin." She giggled. "I was always so good at my prayers. Best little nun in the convent. Till  _you_ awakened me."

Sherlock whimpered again as Irene splashed some droplets onto his torso, his porcelain flesh freckling with red. "Killed Mummy, killed Daddy...killed everyone who loved me. Till I was dead in every way except in body. Then you had your way with me..." Irene traced a spot on the side of Sherlock's neck, where her own bitemark was located. "Made me like you...then you  _dare_ to play angel," she hissed, sinking her fingernails in harshly. Sherlock yowled. "Saint Billy, so chaste and pure."

A vampire stooge quietly entered, crossed to where Kate was watching raptly in the corner, and whispered something in her ear.

Irene licked Sherlock's blood from her fingers. "Out, damned spot! Out, I say!" Irene gasped, as if hearing imaginary bells. "One..." She drew a vertical line of blood down his chest. "Two..." She drew another perpendicular to it, forming a cross.

The cross stung Sherlock, and he moaned again.

"Renie darling," said Kate, smiling wickedly. "Don't break your toy just yet. The ritual's ready for you."

Irene grinned at her. "Why, then, ’tis time to do ’t!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I'm not a Wiccan, I don't know any magic. I made this stuff up.
> 
> I realized, after I started writing this, that I should have made it Femlock/Fem!John, to keep up with the Slayer mythos. I'm an idiot.


	33. I'll Always Find You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some torture and blood letting in this chapter. Not too graphic, but proceed with caution.

John and his squad, armed and ready for action, rolled up to the abandoned factory where Sophie's spell had led them. "So this is the place?" said John.

"Let's hope so," said Lestrade.

"Okay. Now listen, we don't know what we'll find inside. Vampires for sure. There's no way Kate's flying solo," John said to the rest of the crew. "So if anyone wants to-"

"Hey!" panted Molly, running up to the group. "I got Lestrade's text. Sherlock's in trouble?"

"Yep," John replied. "So, like I was saying, we don't know what we're facing in there. So if anyone wants to back out and go home, no one will blame you."

"Oh, now why would you want to do a silly thing like that?" said a voice as a man came out of the bushes, pointing guns at them. "The more the nerrier, you know."

"What the hell?" said Lestrade. "Jones, what are you doing here?"

John raised an eyebrow. "You two know each other?"

"Yeah, that's Inspector Jones!" said Anderson. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I think I know exactly why he's here," scowled Lestrade at Inspector Jones.

"Order of Coventry's always has a sentry in London, Gregory," said Jones with a nasty grin. "To keep an eye on the dark forces in the urban area. We've been watching you and your Slayer for sometime. We're none too pleased with you for killing our number three, Mister Watson."

"Our?" said Sally.

Mr. Archer, armed with his crossbow, came from the other side. Jones clicked his tongue, gesturing one of his guns at the door to the factory. "Inside, all of you. Our boss has been expecting you."

* * *

"Ah, Johnny Boy, here we are again," sighed Kate as John, Lestrade, Molly, Sally, Anderson, and Janine were ushered in. A small battalion of vampires were on the side, waiting for their general's order. "You must see that you're obviously outnumbered, so don't even think about trying anything funny," said Kate cheerfully.

"Why did you take those books?" Lestrade inquired.

"What have you done with Sherlock?" John growled.

Kate held up her hands. "Gentlemen, gentlemen. Everything will be explained very shortly. Doctor Trevelyan!" she called over her shoulder. "The curtain!"

Trevelyan pulled back a red curtain on the opposite side of the room to reveal Irene and Sherlock, chained together, bound by the wrists. Both looked weakened.

"Sherlock!" John shouted.

Kate looked at the vampire doctor. "Begin the ritual."

Trevelyan pulled out a silver knife and slashed both Irene and Sherlock's wrists. Sherlock let out a cry of pain. Their blood mingled and dripped down their arms.

" _Sanguine de patre, sana filia. Tolle vitae de patre ut dare ad genus. In mortem patris, infans vivet_ ," Trevelyan recited from the Musgrave book.

Irene began to glow with a magical healing aura. Meanwhile, Sherlock looked like the life was getting siphoned out of him. The room began to quake.

"It's dark magic!" Lestrade declared, struggling to keep his footing.

"Whatever they're doing, they're killing Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

"What can we do?" said Sally.

"Well I don't know about you wimps," said Janine. She reached into her leather jacket and pulled out a stake. "But I'm fighting."

"I'm with her," said John, whirling around and punching Mr. Archer's lights out. He picked up his crossbow and grinned. "Cool, free weapon."

The room shook more frantically.

The vampire groupies growled and made for the gang at once. John, Janine, Sally, Anderson, and Molly faced them head on, armed with stakes. John took one out with the newly acquired crossbow, and it promptly exploded into dust. "I have to got to get me one of these!" the Slayer exclaimed.

Meanwhile, Lestrade was tussling with Jones. He managed to pry the guns from his hands and beaned him over the head with it, knocking him out. "Yeah, needless to say, you're fired," Lestrade said to the man on the ground.

John dropped his new toy and made to go over to assist his boyfriend, but Kate stepped in his path. "I don't think so, Goldilocks," she snarled, shifting to vamp face. "Nothing is stopping my darling from getting healed."

"And nothing is stopping  _my_ darling from getting rescued by me!" John spat, swinging his fist and punching her in the face. He and Kate got into a tussle.

Meanwhile, Janine casually strode over to where Trevelyan was furiously muttering the incantation. She tapped him on the shoulder. "Oi. Bookworm."

Trevelyan turned around and Janine stabbed him in the heart. He crumbled, leaving nothing but a pile of ash and his spectacles.

Irene, no longer reaping the effects of the healing magic, sagged against her bonds. Kate gasped. "Irene! My love!"

Both she and John rushed over to where their respective loves were strung up. John loosed his boyfriend from the chains and caught his weakened form. "Sherlock? Love?" John cupped the vampire's chin upward.

Sherlock blinked several times, then seemed to recognize John through his hazy stupor. "John?" he whispered. He laughed weakly with relief. "You found me."

John smiled at him. "I'll always find you." The room then shook violently, the entire structure threatening to crumble. "Come on, love. We need to get you out of here." He scooped Sherlock up into his arms and carried him out. "Come on!" John shouted over his shoulder at his party.

The gang hurried out. Kate made to leave with Irene, but the roof of the factory came down on them before they could make it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, my Latin sucks, but the spell is supposed to be something along the lines of: "Blood of the father, heal the child. Take the life of the father and give it to the child. In the father's death, the child shall live."


	34. Aftermath

“There we go, boys,” said Lestrade, locking up a grumpy looking Jones and Archer in a cell. He dusted off his hands and grinned at them. “That should give you a little time to reflect on your life choices, eh?”

Jones and Archer glared at him silently.

Molly shook her head as she and Lestrade headed out to go back up to the office. “Graverobbing, ancient supernatural hitmen, Sherlock getting kidnapped - the things you miss.”

“Speaking of which,” said Lestrade, raising an eyebrow mischievously. “Where have you been lately, anyway?”

“Oh...” Molly smiled to herself. “Working.”

* * *

John was tenderly bandaging Sherlock’s wrist in Lestrade’s office. Sherlock hissed sharply.

“Oh, sorry, love,” John apologized, giving him an appropriate “poor baby” look.

“I hope that cave-in was enough to do in those bloodsucking bitches,” Anderson said.

“Me too,” said John. He sighed wistfully. “Just wish I hadn't had to leave that awesome crossbow behind.”

“I’m sorry your precious toy was lost in the wreckage, John,” said Sherlock, a bit sarcastically.

John just smiled at him. “Well, I got a pretty nice consolation prize,” he said, giving Sherlock a tiny kiss on the lips. “Even if he is a dickhead sometimes,” he added teasingly. Sherlock smirked back, blushing lightly.

Janine shook her head at them, amazed. “You two really are in love. Never thought the day’d come where I'd see a Slayer smoochin’ a vampire.”

John grinned at her, kissing Sherlock again just to prove a point. “So, Number Two. Now that the danger here has passed...you moving along, or staying a while?”

"Hmm," said Janine, turning her stake over in her hand, consideringly. "I might stay a while. London seems like a cool scene. 'Sides, looks like you lot could use all the help you can get." She smirked at John.

"I don't think you'll have to worry too much," said Lestrade as he came in with Molly. "I think things will be calmed down a bit, now that Kate and Irene are out of the picture."

John groaned. "Why'd you have to say that? Now something bad's going to happen for sure!"

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the factory...

Kate was coming to underneath the ruins of the building. She pushed some rubble off of her face and arms. "My legs," she groaned, trying to unwedge herself. "I can't move them."

"Don't worry, my pet," crooned a deep voice. Kate looked up.

Irene was standing over her, reborn. She easily brushed away the debris with newfound strength and picked Kate up in her arms as if she were a cushion. "You've taken care of me," said Irene, carrying her out "Now it's my turn to take care of you."

The two vampires disappeared into the night.


	35. My Secret Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some vore and Janine being a filthy minded perv :P
> 
> By the way, I think Janine's assumptions about Sherlock's sexual behaviors are totally off. Sherlock is the softest bottom ever to bottom. I mean, I think John is down to bottom, but Sherlock is just such a bottom-y bottom bottomer. No dark fuck princes here.
> 
> And if this isn't completely obvious, being like Christian Grey is NOT a good thing. I'm not advocating for 50 Shades Of Poor BDSM Etiquette And Abuse at all.

Janine sighed impatiently, thumping the butt of her stake against her hand in frustration. She was perched on top of a big gothic statue in the cemetery. John was standing on the ground below. "So this is really what you do?" Janine groaned. "Just wait around the graveyard for the fight to come to you? Come on, you were a soldier, weren't you? Let's go seek some action!"

"Vampires tend to lurk around here," said John. "We can catch them off their guard and strike when they least expect it."

"Oh, I get it. You're one of the  _not_ fun kind of soldiers. Got it."

John rolled his eyes at her. "Hey, this is how me and Sherlock get the job done every night. He'd be here if he weren't too weak to get out of bed."

"Speaking of Mister Cheekbones," said Janine with a devilish grin. She wiggled her eyebrows. "How is he in the sack? Is he a top or a bottom? I bet he's a top - no offense. He seems like one of those real mushy types that _gaze into your eyes_ and shit." Janine's tone was almost mocking. "Then again, still waters run deep. For all I know, he could be a total animal. Biting, marking, getting all sweaty and primal. Ooh, is he a Christian Grey type? Ties you up and whips you for being naughty?"

"Uhhh..." John was blushing profusely. "Well, I don't know. We haven't exactly...consummated our relationship yet."

"What?!" Janine said in shock. "Oh, behind you."

John turned around and almost casually dusted a vampire that had been trying to sneak up on him. "What? We're taking it slow. Nothing wrong with that."

Janine sighed and hopped down from her perch. "Johnny Boy, in this life, you got a short time to do all the things - or people - you want to do before you croak. Look at you. You're  _twenty two_. Most Slayers are dead and gone by that age. Your days are seriously numbered, buddy."

John blinked. "Is this supposed to be a pep talk?"

"All I'm saying is,  _carpe diem_. Now, you're obviously goo-goo for Sherlock, he gives you that good low down tickle. You're not gettin' any younger, he's not gettin' any older..." Janine shrugged. "My motto is: 'Want. Take. Have.'"

John tried to laugh it off. "Yeah, alright. Thanks. If I need any more pointers about my sex life, you'll be the first one I consult."

Janine knew he was mocking her, but she didn't care. She punched his arm playfully. "What are Slayer siblings for?" She looked around. "Come on, there's obviously not much action tonight. Let's go get super caffeinated sugary coffee drinks piled mile high with whipped cream."

"Yeah," John agreed. "I don't think there's anything we have to worry about."

* * *

Meanwhile, several miles outside of the city...

A black car was being pulled over by a cop. The tinted window on the driver's side rolled down. A woman with ginger braids in her hair peered out at him. "Hello, officer. Can I help you this evening?" she asked in a nasal drawl.

"Do you know how fast you were going?" the officer asked.

"Oh, I'm so sorry about that. My boss in the back seat is very eager to get to London."

"Well, it doesn't matter, I'm afraid, I'm still going to have to write you a ticket-" He paused, spotting the open container in the cup holder. He shined his light at the thick red liquid inside of it. "Is that..." He blinked several times in confusion.

Ginger Plaits stared at him expectantly.

The officer shook his head slightly. "Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car."

"Miss Riley," growled a voice from the back seat. "Take care of this idiot."

Kitty Riley smiled wickedly. "Will do, boss." She opened the car door and got out, staring hungrily at the policeman. "I prefer fresh anyway," she said, shifting into vamp face.

The police officer gasped in horror and tried to back away, but Kitty grabbed him and bit into his neck, quickly draining him dry. She dropped his body on the ground and got back into the car. "Be in London in ten minutes, boss," said Kitty to the shadowy back seat.

"Good," growled Kitty's boss as the car started back up. He leaned forward into the moonlight, and it was revealed that he was a demon with an extremely mutilated face. "Let's go find the one who's responsible for this," the boss said through bared yellow teeth. " _The Slayer._ "


	36. Darkness On The Edge Of Town

"So why doesn't Janine have a Watcher?" Sally asked.

"Uhh...dunno," said John, flipping a page idly in one of Lestrade's tomes. "Maybe the Council hasn't assigned her one yet. She is only a few weeks old."

At that moment, John's Watcher came in, holding a police report. "Dead officer. About ten minutes out of London. Neck wounds."

"Vampire, huh?" said John.

Lestrade nodded once. "I knew him. Fresh out of school. Poor bloke." He sighed.

"Any chance of him rising again?"

"Didn't seem to have ingested any blood that wasn't his. Still, I'll have Molly keep an eye on the morgue."

"Are you sure she can handle it by herself?" John asked. "Maybe we should have Janine stay on guard."

"No," said Lestrade. "I want you and her to find the vamp - or vamps who did this. Comb the area, do a little sleuthing."

John sighed. "Wish Sherlock was hale and hearty. He could sniff out these guys."

Sally was looking at the report. "You found this guy on the side of the road?"

"That's right," Lestrade replied.

"Maybe it was a drive by thing. Maybe he pulled over the wrong vamp," Sally surmised. She smirked at John. "See? Who needs your boyfriend?"

John rolled his eyes, but nodded, silently commending her.

"He would have radioed in pulling someone over," said Lestrade, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "All we need to do is check his last report, and maybe we can get an ID on the car. Lead us right to them."

"Well let's do it, then," said John, getting up to go to work.

* * *

That night, John and Janine were patrolling together again. "Lestrade said the car with the license plate was tracked here, to this neighborhood," John said, hands in his pockets as they walked down the street.

"Glad to finally be getting some action," Janine grinned, flipping her stake in her hand.

"Say, Janine," John said to the other Slayer. "A friend brought up an interesting question today. Why don't _you_ have a Watcher?"

Janine seemed caught off guard by the question. "He's...that's none of your business."

John was surprised by her abrupt tone. "Well, I just wanted to know-"

"Well maybe you should mind your own beeswax, buddy!" snapped Janine.

"I was just-look out!" John shouted, pulling her out of the way as a hoard of vampires came barreling out of the shadows.

"Oh, yeah!" grinned Janine, tackling one head on.

John drove his stake into one's chest, then another, but not before noting that they were dressed in identical maroon-and-gold tunics.

"Huh?" John wondered. But then another one grabbed him, and John focused his attention on the battle.

Janine was still wailing on the same vampire, opting to beat the crap out of him instead of just staking him already.

John ended up taking on the rest of the board by himself, which he did, just barely. When the last one was reduced to dust, John looked at his fellow Slayer. "Janine, just finish him for God's sake!" he shouted in annoyance.

With a reluctant groan, Janine finally jabbed her stake into the vamp's heart. It crumbled to ash with an agonized roar.

John stared at her. "What the fuck?"

Janine brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Sorry, I got...a little too excited."

"Ya think?" John said. "You're kind of bloodthirsty, you know that?"

Janine at least had the decency to look abashed. "Sorry. Guess I got a lot of rage built up, you know?"

John nodded. "I can see that...did you notice they were all dressed in the same uniform?"

"No," said Janine. "What did they look like?"

"Kind of medieval. Maroon and yellow tunics."

Janine froze. "Oh no. Oh no." She quickly got to her feet and started walking in the other direction. "He cannot be here. I'm getting the fuck out of here!"

"Wait, who? Janine, who's here?" John called after her.

Janine froze. She sighed and turned back to him. "The Golem."


End file.
